TK
10/07/08, 09:02 PM
A class assignment that I enjoyed writing, so I thought I'd share it and see if anyone else shared the same sentiments.
The plastic alarm I had recently purchase from the friendly (or so they say) neighborhood Wal-Mart went off again, its obnoxious sound penetrating any ears within fifty feet of it. The consistency and will of the alarm to never give up astounded me. I know it was merely powered by the outlet located in the wall behind my bed, but still, the fact that something could exist with a mission and that it would never stop until completing the mission was impressive. I shoved off a flick of envy that crossed my mind, because it was then I remember saying I’d never stop dreaming. Of course, I meant dreaming of things to conquer and achieve, and not merely the fantasies and illusions that occur when I fall asleep, out of the reach of the real world. But I suppose the latter was partially true, since I dreamed of falling asleep and staying in a dream. But I guess my statement that I’d never stop dreaming was nothing more than a lie like everything else that is spewed out of my mouth sporadically. And why did I guess this? I woke up.
I woke up not in this reality that you call reality though. This was much, much different. This reality had the resemblances of an old world that mixed its geography with parts of history books and popular novels set in medieval times. I walked through the streets; my shoeless feet pounding off the dirt roads. As I walked, I was overwhelmed and drowned with mounds of foreigners who followed a foreign culture with foreign ideas and practices. And although the place was filled with strange and unknown things, I found it refreshing and pleasant. This was, of course, until I got to know its every detail. From the boring, recycled city names that seemed so unoriginal and thoughtless, it stripped the meaning away, to the frustrating and confusing street corners that often had me lost and out of place, the overcrowded city had started to drive me insane. I still managed to bare a sense of sanity, in this place that I had held out hope to be nothing more than a bad dream from which I would soon awake.
But it was not to be. I think what finally had crush me was seeing the perfect artwork, drawn with halves of sidewalk chalk, scribbled on the potholes and cracks of parking lots. I was bewildered and filled with regret to see such a perfect piece of art drawn with shitty materials and upon a canvass that would be washed away in a matter of months. The more I spent time here, the more I explored this place, the more rotten it made me feel.
This feeling was like coming home from a food store with a big bag of groceries that smelt good and tasted good. The only problem was the expiration date was never checked, and there appeared to be no obvious signs that the food had gone rotten. But because of a simple mistake, I spend the next night vomiting my guts out in a dirty toilet asking myself why I didn’t do the simplest of things as check the expiration date. This feeling was pure disappointment and dissatisfaction. I had never felt so let down, but what made it worse, was I could only blame myself for it. It sickened me.
Although I concede, I must not be so pessimistic, it’s not all bad here, I suppose. I mean she is still alive here. Her hair is still long and dark, and we can still talk to each other as if nothing had ever happen. And I can still touch her…but I can’t feel her though. I don’t think I ever will be able to do that. Some will interpret that as a sign from God that it had never been meant to be, but I don’t believe in God. This is nothing more than a dream, so surely I am in control. But as much as I would like to believe that, I know it is not true.
Still, I used to dream of falling asleep in a dream and never waking up. So I was not even sure if I wanted to leave this place or just dwindle in its fake, perpetual happiness that I see as love. It might not be real, but I would still be happy, right?
I think Chuck said it best. And I think that was what affected me the most. Knowing, that even if you think you are in an actual, real love relationship, and that even if you think you are truly invested in love, you are not. It is merely this long, long sex thing that could end at any moment. It is just one continuing cycle of fucking and fucking each other over. Because after all, it is all just about getting off. And I realized that almost all the time, I told myself I loved you, when in fact, I was just using you. I don’t know what love is, but this isn’t love. This only looked like love I told myself repeatedly. This could not possibly be love, I hoped.
The plastic alarm I had recently purchase from the friendly (or so they say) neighborhood Wal-Mart went off again, its obnoxious sound penetrating any ears within fifty feet of it. The consistency and will of the alarm to never give up astounded me. I know it was merely powered by the outlet located in the wall behind my bed, but still, the fact that something could exist with a mission and that it would never stop until completing the mission was impressive. I shoved off a flick of envy that crossed my mind, because it was then I remember saying I’d never stop dreaming. Of course, I meant dreaming of things to conquer and achieve, and not merely the fantasies and illusions that occur when I fall asleep, out of the reach of the real world. But I suppose the latter was partially true, since I dreamed of falling asleep and staying in a dream. But I guess my statement that I’d never stop dreaming was nothing more than a lie like everything else that is spewed out of my mouth sporadically. And why did I guess this? I woke up.
I woke up not in this reality that you call reality though. This was much, much different. This reality had the resemblances of an old world that mixed its geography with parts of history books and popular novels set in medieval times. I walked through the streets; my shoeless feet pounding off the dirt roads. As I walked, I was overwhelmed and drowned with mounds of foreigners who followed a foreign culture with foreign ideas and practices. And although the place was filled with strange and unknown things, I found it refreshing and pleasant. This was, of course, until I got to know its every detail. From the boring, recycled city names that seemed so unoriginal and thoughtless, it stripped the meaning away, to the frustrating and confusing street corners that often had me lost and out of place, the overcrowded city had started to drive me insane. I still managed to bare a sense of sanity, in this place that I had held out hope to be nothing more than a bad dream from which I would soon awake.
But it was not to be. I think what finally had crush me was seeing the perfect artwork, drawn with halves of sidewalk chalk, scribbled on the potholes and cracks of parking lots. I was bewildered and filled with regret to see such a perfect piece of art drawn with shitty materials and upon a canvass that would be washed away in a matter of months. The more I spent time here, the more I explored this place, the more rotten it made me feel.
This feeling was like coming home from a food store with a big bag of groceries that smelt good and tasted good. The only problem was the expiration date was never checked, and there appeared to be no obvious signs that the food had gone rotten. But because of a simple mistake, I spend the next night vomiting my guts out in a dirty toilet asking myself why I didn’t do the simplest of things as check the expiration date. This feeling was pure disappointment and dissatisfaction. I had never felt so let down, but what made it worse, was I could only blame myself for it. It sickened me.
Although I concede, I must not be so pessimistic, it’s not all bad here, I suppose. I mean she is still alive here. Her hair is still long and dark, and we can still talk to each other as if nothing had ever happen. And I can still touch her…but I can’t feel her though. I don’t think I ever will be able to do that. Some will interpret that as a sign from God that it had never been meant to be, but I don’t believe in God. This is nothing more than a dream, so surely I am in control. But as much as I would like to believe that, I know it is not true.
Still, I used to dream of falling asleep in a dream and never waking up. So I was not even sure if I wanted to leave this place or just dwindle in its fake, perpetual happiness that I see as love. It might not be real, but I would still be happy, right?
I think Chuck said it best. And I think that was what affected me the most. Knowing, that even if you think you are in an actual, real love relationship, and that even if you think you are truly invested in love, you are not. It is merely this long, long sex thing that could end at any moment. It is just one continuing cycle of fucking and fucking each other over. Because after all, it is all just about getting off. And I realized that almost all the time, I told myself I loved you, when in fact, I was just using you. I don’t know what love is, but this isn’t love. This only looked like love I told myself repeatedly. This could not possibly be love, I hoped.