That unquenchable universal angst leaving the last remnant of that thing called home. The pang of an arrow deeply lodged in your chest. Its dull ache waiting as if by an unexpected miracle that someone will call. Someone once known so well but now having no possibility of return. That possibility no longer existing. Still one goes on living in the routine waking up and waiting to it is time to go back to bed. The cycle repeating itself until it seems like normal facsimile displacing what was once considered as reality. What is life about beyond that tenuous bridge to the next second over the yawning gap of the present in flux? The next instant tirelessly fading into now. No way of stopping anything. No matter that empty stillness in surround. Senseless to play the game pretending a commitment to the waking game of picking a popular character to be. A life within interior spaces sheltered by a popular shared fantasy draped in the illusion of society and a mulch of universal consensus. That hoop skirt of science endured to remind one where they are supposed to belong. Living that temporal dream of brand aware consciousness.
He found himself at the end of a road trip to another city he was completely unfamiliar with. The look of the buildings and the arrangement of the architecture suggesting some lesser known urban sprawl somewhere along the Pacific coast. There on the street with his hands in empty pockets and no idea where he was. There was something in the haze of his fading memory about arriving there to go to a small college to speak at a lecture. But each time some details surfaced threatening some clarity they bobbed off back into a hazy forgetfulness. As best as he could figure he had initially taken a bus from a small park in a neighborhood of small two bedroom homes that looked like they had been built just around the time of the last big war. The bus stop being just after the highway dramatically curved in a long lazy ‘S’. He rode down until the street turned into an avenue and then a wide boulevard till he got off by what he reckoned was in the immediate vicinity of the university. Wandering about the city blocks near that six point intersection he found that he was becoming more disoriented. Sensing that he would be better to get back on the bus he returned to his last recollected starting point at the small park by the ‘S’ curve.
Standing there at the bus stop waiting for another bus that would take him back into the bustle of the city’s commercial center district where he had originally detrained it became horribly obvious that he had completely forgotten the college’s name. He began to walk down the street looking for any lasting visual landmarks that his previous journey might have inadvertently offered to the flutter of his inconstant mind. To his surprise he finds himself in the hallway of an old century old public school filled with young children. The sprawl of overly energetic kids and their belongings presently a gauntlet to his weary limbs attempting to avoid stumbling over them. The older female instructors fully engaged in monitoring the children so much so that he feels that his presence thus far being unnoticed might cause a stir if discovered by a fatal misstep on his part. The progression through the hall and a subsequent maze of rooms becoming ever more challenging to his endurance and maintaining the continued fiction of stealth. He collapses wearily onto a mat just in sight of an exist door unable to walk with his limbs on fire from the effort of high stepping to avoid boisterous six year olds. The man’s own possessions are now scattered about him in the playfully scattered detritus of the school’s paraphernalia. He wonders how he can explain himself splayed about in such a miserable condition as he does his best to recover his own goods.
The man realizes that his money has been exhausted down to a few quarters as he jams the most important finds back into their place. Half of the items possibly able to mistaken as some of the stuff that the kids had been playing with. And the man now is afraid that the teachers are going to notice him as a strange interloper catching him in the act of what looks like him stealing from their children. He looks over towards the door trying raise enough energy to get up enough even to his hands and knees to crawl towards the exit. It becomes evident that if he does not immediately find some way to move on that he will miss the appointment that had originally brought him to this city in the first place. Mind triumphing over matter he is on the boulevard once again hailing a passing woman on the sidewalk. But she won’t respond to his entreaties and he veers off to the left staggering down several blocks trying to regain his strength. To his surprise the neighborhood he travels through looking amazingly a duplicate of one that he had known intimately decades previous in high school. He runs into his long lost step daughter who after a quick conversations decides to accompany him to the place he is trying to find. In time she leads him back in the right direction and the board another bus heading towards the intersection that he had lost his bearings from.
Standing on the same corner with his daughter and another companion familiar to her that has joined them, he rushes off down a new lane towards what appears to be the entrance to the college’s campus. His two companions now involved in a lackadaisical discussion he leaves them behind in haste. The college is composed of several small public building giving off the aire of more a hostel than a school. There are scores of student types all with a dog walking their pets all about the parking lots and sidewalks. Back and forth through the momentary passing’s of owners being towed about by their canines at the end of taught leashes he wanders finally reaching what looks like the proper type of building suggesting administration. The residence hall looking type building next door providing as likely a destination he enters and climbs the short stairwell to what appears a lounge beset by the squalor of too many years of careless habitation. His daughter appears just behind him with her friend, both seeming more at home than the man. They sit upon the worn sofas watching the nineteen and twenty year old’s milling about energetically powered by their tireless youth. The accommodations awaiting upstairs being a warren of closet sized rooms with bunk beds sleep three or four to a space. He gets ready to ascend to our accommodations as our conversation seems to be annoying some of the more permanent occupants of the room and find to my shock that I need to pay money. Something that seems lost along the way if indeed his memory allows him to believe at this point that he ever had it to begin with. He finds out with equal shocked amazement that he is in fact now in another country left to the tender mercies of his long lost daughter’s finances to vouchsafe a night’s rest. The enfolding nightmare of this careless journey now finding the man without money, away from home, dead tired and without a clue of who to contact here, or what in fact the nature of his business was to be. All the dogs, all the kids, and his memory emptying like a leaky balloon. The temporal dram of consciousness doubtful as any sense of verifiable concrete reality beyond futility.