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It's now almost 3.00 a.m. and I just woke up, after sleeping a dreamless 4 hours period.
This is me today, a guy with no dreams. This is not quite true; I might have 2 or 3 in a holding cell, waiting to be bailed out by a will that does not seem to gain form.
I cannot understand this feeling of apathy that grabs my personality like a large slug who lingers at a cozy corner in a weary city.
This is me today, a weary guy, trying hard to break free from the boring edges that confine me to a state of undesirable emptiness.
I feel as alone as alone can be, surrounded by millions of souls that pass me by as if I was one of many unknown drifters, in a city where nobody has the time to wonder about any strangers. In my own town I feel a stranger! What is about solitude, that seems to have a more cunning nature, exactly when you are surrounded with people.
I am also to blame for this; after all, I prefer to exist in my own cave, a room filled with empty dreams, glued to dusty walls; but alas, I've given up on them. And so, like my shallow dreams, I have also renounced on the memories of my old buddies, who now lead a most active life with such a meticulous division of time, that neither me or them worry too much about the other.
Well, I might in occasion spare a thought or two about a friend in particular, a given group of friends, as I allow my imagination to carry me through a journey triggered by the little things of my current day; a sound, an image, a voice, any little thing will do, unfolding a series of buried recollections that are longed past.
Nevertheless, I am more impatient now and life is more demanding, so I don't allow my spirit to run wildly on any events of the past, or that my soul wonders of to dream rooms of tomorrow where anything is possible.
I guess this is all about meaning; the meaning of purpose as I once saw it in a cartoon that entertained me so much. What is my purpose here, now? A vague question; a pointless quest of meaning; a mirage on a road to perdition, where all is quite defined, and no hopeful exit doors lay in this strict corridor of destiny.
A poor image of doom it seems, as I wonder off in a depressive state of searching without a purpose.
Oh, I might say that I am searching for Happiness - an utopian city ruled by the fools of the realm - or instead I can be looking for Love - a spit of harsh realities when all relations that end in failure come to surface.
My caring readers, you who are too few to mention,by choosing a state of anonymity - for you also dwell too much in your own worries to even care for my own - I can tell you that currently, I am buoying in the sea of turmoil where the ghosts and dragons that once scared seamen from the promised lands, now scare me from the promised dreams.
I think of me as a once calm and determined spirit that headed his ship in the hard oceans that lay between his home and the island of hope, where supposedly exists the city of joy - a legendary place where many seek refuge from the unknown mysteries of the future.
However, contemplating the world from my cold windows, I dare not to imagine what possible truth are in these stories from my past imagination, as my present needs my weak reason and unsteady focus, instead of my joyful awe and merry wonder that not so long ago made me dream of a better tomorrow.
Today, I live in grey, rooming from home to work and back again, with an empty sight filled with a tearless vision of a harsh reality that I lead myself to be.
I guess I have somehow felt into the quicksand of uneasy comfort, where my will to change is compromised by my sloth. A glimpse of hope remains, when in a few months from now, I will have to leave my cozy family and my comfortable room and somehow manage in a nearly strange Montreal, that will be my home for half year. I just hope I won't sink even further in the muddy roads of my shallow contentment and try to escape from my next Canadian venture.
I am sure this is just a post-mental depressive state that is hovering over me like a big grey cloud about to burst into the fury of a storm, washing the world below, but then, leaving it refreshed, for whatever bonanza might be lurking around. I am sure this won't be a double storm without the serenity of a new sunshine.
P.S. I miss the rain, usually it has a reinvigorating power over me that I guess that my dream bags have grown empty out of some much common reality. I feel a cloud of tears coming soon, I am sure it will wash my face and allows me to gaze the world with a more sincere smile than the one I carry.
Listening: Pat Metheny's - Beyond the Missouri River
cocasman@zmail.pt
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