A Phoenix Too Frequent

I am an occasional hermit and I need to explore this facet of personality a little more. I am as askew in this environment as Lebanese headscarves in northern Sydney. With black white or gray, the mind begins to conceive an archetype to operate with, forgetting ever so conveniently the adage – change is the only consistency. I don’t despise my being here as much as I despise myself for accepting their modus operandi as mine. I function differently. Think about getting away, think bout finding another trajectory to shoot from. Think about writing and traveling and just living, from time to time. Not to become a tourist but a traveler because tourists always want to come back to a home. A traveler makes home in other places. How long before the second shedding of skin? Sometimes feel that the vanguards are misleading traffic signs and we are accidents waiting to happen The advent of impenetrable lassitude numbs all senses on faithfully blind nights. I hate embarking on self-piteous sojourns but more often than not I indulge myself a lot more than appropriate. I find  it increasingly impossible to bridge the chasms between logic and desire. One shouldn’t have to figure all life truths at 21 odd.  Observing trends of Being and Being Led. Circumlocution. Feel like a Vicar presiding over a large, spiritually handicapped swarm.  I am unraveling. This can’t be bout Coming of Age. I feel an old soul, already. Soul’s incriminating intensity. Consummate beauty of living and raw bleeding of death was never clearer than at a butcher’s shop , watched the man measure chickens even as they shrieked like banshees on fire and then he disappeared behind a cabinet. Fraction of a moment later, the sound ceased. So did Life. 

        

 

 

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~ by iconoplastic on February 9, 2006.

One Response to “A Phoenix Too Frequent”

  1. do you mind if i comment here?

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