I decided to leave late on Saturday night for Georgia. Emily had already been there for a week, and was waiting for me to meet with her, but I had a previous engagement I couldn't miss.
That engagement ended around one a.m. or so, and after that I headed back home to pick up my luggage and went on my way, first swallowing one caffeine pill, and after the highway hypnosis kicked in, I swallowed the second.
And there, I was alert and awake. And I had enough hours of audio entertainment to keep me from thinking. Until the battery of my phone, and only source of directions to Atlanta, was close to death. All I was left with was a few over-listened to CDs.
And my thoughts. Dreadful thoughts to occupy me. Isn't the whole MP3, CD-player, Walkman trend all about keeping yourself from your environment and your own thoughts. Without distractions, without an external voice driving the flow of my thoughts, I feared my mind eating itself alive.
And so it did. Thankfully I had a camera to record the whole thing. I started recording as I drove through the mountains. The mountains were terrifying, let me tell you. Those recordings are full of beautiful strings of profanity, yet those strings are excessive even relative to my usual casual speech. I plan on using those videos, and the videos I plan on recording on the ride home (also through the night on caffeine pills) as a basis for my stand-up routine, which I'll be starting once I get my feet in place in Atlanta. I've found five different places with open mic night's, and plan on doing a rotation until I get noticed or my psyche is destroyed beyond return (which could happen with getting noticed, far down the road, I'll admit).
But finally, I saw the tall buildings clumped together that signified that I had survived the mountains and made it to Atlanta, my future home. The home I've dreamed of for the last few months. It was a far away idea at the time, an escape from my dreary day to day existence that served as an attempt at self annihilation more so than actually living.
But then, I saw the city in the dawn's light. The sun cresting from the surrounding mountains and the sky a queer violet, the city towered over me unlike the mountains. Because I'd be living in this organic mountain.
And I realized that it could eat me alive. The city, itself, could devour me in a way that I hadn't imagined until I drove to the reality that is moving away from the cradle, away from support. Moving to a city that is larger and greater than any concept you can imagine. A city that couldn't care whether you live or die, whether your barely survive or thrive. A place where the possibilities are endless, but those possibilities are a two way street.
And that I could fail again. In this new town, I could fail.
The dreams of the depressed and anxiety-ridden are often filled with the desire to move away from the town one can blame failure and psychological diseases on. But once you arrive at that city and realize your arrival is actually more akin to having your back against the city with no hope of escape (like you could back home, where no one would have questioned you, as they were to busy running from their own mental corners to look back at you). You've arrived at the place you thought would rescue you, but you aren't rescued. You are still alone inside there.
There. You know what there is. That place inside your mind outside of all the thoughts of social obligations and escape. That place where the panic and fear and dread is that tries to creep out when you are lying in bed alone. When you wake up in the middle of the night after a dream of death and consider your place and where you expected to be.
That place is you. You naked, you exposed. The only part of you that is really you. If you ever do acid or shrooms, you'll have a great window to what that really means.
And you'll never forget it.
You'll never forget you again. The you that you forgot when you grew up, in middle school, and stopped having the eternal monologue that took itself seriously. You'll become that kid who has no idea that the world doesn't revolve around the thoughts it's having.
And that you, that you inside you, is the heaviest piece of luggage you can carry. No new town can rid you of that luggage. And the airport can't lose it and it can't fall out of your trunk. You'll never escape that thing you carry inside your mind. You at the core, stripped of all social meaning and "taste".
The you that you will face on your death bed until the moment you are no longer conscious of it. And probably after that too.
The only thing that will hold you while you pass out of existence.
The only thing you really are.
But we sure are glad to be leaving Evansville.
That engagement ended around one a.m. or so, and after that I headed back home to pick up my luggage and went on my way, first swallowing one caffeine pill, and after the highway hypnosis kicked in, I swallowed the second.
And there, I was alert and awake. And I had enough hours of audio entertainment to keep me from thinking. Until the battery of my phone, and only source of directions to Atlanta, was close to death. All I was left with was a few over-listened to CDs.
And my thoughts. Dreadful thoughts to occupy me. Isn't the whole MP3, CD-player, Walkman trend all about keeping yourself from your environment and your own thoughts. Without distractions, without an external voice driving the flow of my thoughts, I feared my mind eating itself alive.
And so it did. Thankfully I had a camera to record the whole thing. I started recording as I drove through the mountains. The mountains were terrifying, let me tell you. Those recordings are full of beautiful strings of profanity, yet those strings are excessive even relative to my usual casual speech. I plan on using those videos, and the videos I plan on recording on the ride home (also through the night on caffeine pills) as a basis for my stand-up routine, which I'll be starting once I get my feet in place in Atlanta. I've found five different places with open mic night's, and plan on doing a rotation until I get noticed or my psyche is destroyed beyond return (which could happen with getting noticed, far down the road, I'll admit).
But finally, I saw the tall buildings clumped together that signified that I had survived the mountains and made it to Atlanta, my future home. The home I've dreamed of for the last few months. It was a far away idea at the time, an escape from my dreary day to day existence that served as an attempt at self annihilation more so than actually living.
But then, I saw the city in the dawn's light. The sun cresting from the surrounding mountains and the sky a queer violet, the city towered over me unlike the mountains. Because I'd be living in this organic mountain.
And I realized that it could eat me alive. The city, itself, could devour me in a way that I hadn't imagined until I drove to the reality that is moving away from the cradle, away from support. Moving to a city that is larger and greater than any concept you can imagine. A city that couldn't care whether you live or die, whether your barely survive or thrive. A place where the possibilities are endless, but those possibilities are a two way street.
And that I could fail again. In this new town, I could fail.
The dreams of the depressed and anxiety-ridden are often filled with the desire to move away from the town one can blame failure and psychological diseases on. But once you arrive at that city and realize your arrival is actually more akin to having your back against the city with no hope of escape (like you could back home, where no one would have questioned you, as they were to busy running from their own mental corners to look back at you). You've arrived at the place you thought would rescue you, but you aren't rescued. You are still alone inside there.
There. You know what there is. That place inside your mind outside of all the thoughts of social obligations and escape. That place where the panic and fear and dread is that tries to creep out when you are lying in bed alone. When you wake up in the middle of the night after a dream of death and consider your place and where you expected to be.
That place is you. You naked, you exposed. The only part of you that is really you. If you ever do acid or shrooms, you'll have a great window to what that really means.
And you'll never forget it.
You'll never forget you again. The you that you forgot when you grew up, in middle school, and stopped having the eternal monologue that took itself seriously. You'll become that kid who has no idea that the world doesn't revolve around the thoughts it's having.
And that you, that you inside you, is the heaviest piece of luggage you can carry. No new town can rid you of that luggage. And the airport can't lose it and it can't fall out of your trunk. You'll never escape that thing you carry inside your mind. You at the core, stripped of all social meaning and "taste".
The you that you will face on your death bed until the moment you are no longer conscious of it. And probably after that too.
The only thing that will hold you while you pass out of existence.
The only thing you really are.
But we sure are glad to be leaving Evansville.
No comments:
Post a Comment