You turn around and five years have gone. That arbitrary measurement that you are supposed to keep at all costs. Time measured in hours and days and weeks and months that never seems to work out. Inept because the present never fades away enough to be fully absent from the past. The same’s but different’s. The same chair. The same car. The same house. The same life. Yet everything seems different. A sort of silence has now come to roost. You think of what you’ve lost. When was the last time you kissed a woman with passionate intent? When was that time when prosperity couldn’t get enough of your doorstep? Name the date when your children began to hate you? This life becomes a crystal clear ocean that drops down to a bottom several hundred fantoms deep. You are locked in the bathroom with the sharks curious to come in. Your alter ego tells you to leave the door open go about your business and they won’t bother you. Just don’t fart or bleed. The world is out there swimming past in groups at different levels. Young, old, families, friends, in groups and pairs. To them it is a paradise. But you are the only one that seems to know that it is underwater. The only one who cares about the impossibility of it. But you go along? All the fish out of water have their own set of problems way up there above the surface. You are a man lost in the water. The Kingdom of seaweed and Davy Jones. Who is right and who is wrong to stay? How wrong is it for someone born at the end of the year’s first quarter to rue the water? That same old signaling feeling never to return. Because you can’t return! Just build doilies of the dimness of random recollections and call it the past. Perhaps that is the ocean that you seek? No special regard given to this persistent waking dream that all these characters seem to share with you? You’re kind of selfish that way. People only seem to take special notice of you when you defy their expectations of the moment. The opposite is true after all that in this world you will never be seen if you swim in a school without he fishes. One can only judge a book by its cover. That is how upside the world has become.
Nocturnal Swimming Lessons