Staple Singers I'll Take You There

There's an elephant in the room.

I have instincts, proclivity, inclinations, impulses.  They are all strong.  They drive me.  I can only be true to myself to be true to everyone else.  I am what I am, just like Popeye.  Never falter.

an act or instance of failing  or proving unsuccessful; lack of success;

nonperformance of something due, required, or expected;

a subnormal quantity or quality; an insufficiency

 

I  can think of the million places where I went wrong.  But they seemed like the right and logical choices at the time.  Shaping, molding, growing.  These humans are really fucking complicated.  I choke back my tears, which are motivated by what?  Self pity?  Indignance?  My feelings are hurt, no doubt about that.  But, are they justified in being so?  Have I led myself directly to this place?  I baked this cake with rotten eggs and sour milk, and now I have to eat the whole thing with a smile on my face.  

I just feel defeated and sad, and like its too late to make a difference anymore.

  

There is a shredded newspaper outside of my front door. The moustache is staring at me from across the street. Your purple hat is visible in the long grass, but I pretend not to see it. My velvet jumper ripples as I turn to go inside. One last glance over my shoulder to satisy my addiction. There. I see.

Rooftop.  Stars.  Walking slowly and gazing skyward.  The air is crisp and smells fresh.  I know as soon as I lift my foot that I've gone too far and my downstep arcs into falling.  I'm terrified, my heart is pounding through my entire body.  The falling slows, I realize.  I take a cautious look around me, there is no ground.  No bottom to smash into.  There is no more building. 

*toss*

Running as fast as I can through a filthy, trash strewn alley, exhausted.  Sweating.  I trip on something and lose my footing.  My hand smooshes into rotten food and I roll behind a garbage can.  I try very hard to control my breathing and listen for the footsteps that I know are behind me.

*turn*

I see metal bars.  I cannot move.  There is blistering heat from every direction and it smells like metal.  I hear gears turning and chains pulling.  There's an orange glow to everything and in the distance I see a steam vent open with a loud hiss.  As I regain some consciousness and gather my wits, I can see that I'm in a hanging cage.  While I appear to be inside somewhere, there is a vast landscape that resembles every depiction I've seen of "Hell".  I grab the bars of the cage and stand up, the chains rattle.

*roll*

Warm breeze, sand underfoot.  I have a drink in my hand with an umbrella in it.  I'm on a beach.  There's loud music coming from somewhere on the left.  I'm reading a newspaper.  The headline reads "Stocks crash, the rich are fucked".  There's a hand on my shoulder and I look up into a strangers face.  I know her.  I nod, but I don't know what she said.  I sip my drink.  It's cold and delicious.  Tropical.  I hear a door close.

*wake*

I'm pretty sure I've had just about enough of winter. 

• I need the sun on my skin.  
• I need beer in the grass.  
• I need the lake.  
• I need a bbq.  
• I need kickball.  
• I need to wear no coat.  
• I need a warm fresh breeze. 

I have a feeling of anticipation in my gut that's building to fever pitch.