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A story about angst: Part 4
December 14, 2005 on 6:35 pm | In Kumara | | Sicopath
Dear friends,
I never knew your dreams. You’d never tell them to me and you never told me how often you’d had them. But to look back this now, I think, “perhaps, it was a good thing?”
But this one thing, I could never have imagined existing. These ill thoughts, of course; in my paranoia I’d always suspected, but nearing the end of my life, ignorance and blissfully trusting that it wasn’t possible was the only way I could get by.
This nightmare was one of me. Projected against the flat shadow of a wall, but shadows have dimension. It was one of me, standing atop a bridge. Shadowy me pointed at me and my spine froze solidly. And as I looked on, I watched that image of myself standing and pointing. Then its arms fell off: leaving a trail of blood as the shadowy appendages fell towards the earth, then it’s torso toppled of the sides: head, shoulders and all, falling off the side of the bridge, careening towards oblivion.
Few people knew me well enough to impose a death wish, but certainly, this nightmare belongs to someone who knew me.
A person would never know true disgust until they witness the subconscious malice of their most trusted people. Compelled, I turned away. And behind me, I saw my own nightmare again, thinking carefully; I wondered… Is this grim vision of a girl someone I’d known? No. I did not recognise her at all, the bloody sequence of this hooded girl disembowelling herself with telekinesis… Maybe I was too angry. And this is the product of my non-directed rage. If I turned around, I’d see the product of somebody’s directed rage.
So here it was… Trapped between nightmares in this world beyond life. Where would I even begin looking for the answers I hungered for?
Will create more angst when I have angst that needs to be created and this sentence didn’t make sense to me either.
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[...] Well, I’ve had mountains. Mountains I remember, mountains I can nostalgically revisit at my leisure. This one, in fact, being the gateway to my predicament. The bridge over bridges where I once sat and passed the time away, watching vehicles glide by ignorant of the world outside their shells. The concrete on the banisters etched with the scars of years and years and years gone by, the perfect place to stake a claim to the future’s past. My eye glided over the letters and numbers, which represent the claims of such a variety of individuals. Claims such as “4 a gud time, call Geri @ 025-63…” or “barrys gay” or my personal favourite; “go home dad, you’re drunk”. But those weren’t what I needed to see, I slid across to my corner of one slab, looking for something I’d scrawled in deep, dark resignation. Next to a badly drawn picture of copulating men was a block of lyrics from a song I’d never heard before. And next to that, I found my message; my own claim on the future’s past, if I could cry – I would have, reading my thoughts of that day; “I’m here for you…” Links to: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 [...]
Pingback by Life outside Physics Lecture Theater 1 » A story about angst: Part 6 — 6:07 pm — January 8, 2006 #
[...] Links to: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 [...]
Pingback by Life outside Physics Lecture Theater 1 » A story about angst: Part 5 — 6:07 pm — January 8, 2006 #