Spring light's shine through the train windows, and long shadows jet out upon the Gowanus Canal, turning the industrial wasteland into something exciting and beautiful. I can smell a fresh scent in the air, even through all the pollution and haze, and though I feel so damn lethargic, I get this great sense that something new is coming. It effects the way I walk. It effects the way I talk, like I've grown wings, Red Bull style. As I exit the platform, and leave the station, i see the people walking about the city, their legs swinging back and forth in unison. It's as if they're all tiny pieces to an elaborate steam powered machine. It's so strange, and so horrifying.
I leave my outpatient shaking with anger. The blood is pulsing so hard through my arteries, that I can feel them contracting and releasing, reluctantly feeding oxygen into my extremities-if that is what they do. I get out of the train again, and cough up some mucous that had been festering in my bronchials and spit it out on the ground. I head up ninth street, not paying any mind to the moonlit concrete, 'cause I'm not looking for peace. I have to bite my tongue, and pacify my fingers with a ciggarette so I dont send out erratic hate filled text messages, I throw my phone into my pocket and speed up my pace. I walk along prospect park west and move against the traffic, the idea that my purest form of self only exists digitally, and on a few crumpled up peices of paper begins to bother me. Finally, I reach Flatbush. The cheap restaurants and neon lit store fronts seem to bring a calm over me, and though at that moment I realize I hate my parents, I dont mind, because there is so much to be distracted by.
I wake up this morning, and head once again into the city for school. I walk along the side of my campus and stare into the vacant eyes of other privelaged, jaded, students. I imagine myself, as if in some foreign film, screaming at the top of my lungs "DONT YOU SEE? I AM YOUR KING, CRUCIFY ME! ". But then I laugh to myself, cause I'm just so fucking clever
I leave my outpatient shaking with anger. The blood is pulsing so hard through my arteries, that I can feel them contracting and releasing, reluctantly feeding oxygen into my extremities-if that is what they do. I get out of the train again, and cough up some mucous that had been festering in my bronchials and spit it out on the ground. I head up ninth street, not paying any mind to the moonlit concrete, 'cause I'm not looking for peace. I have to bite my tongue, and pacify my fingers with a ciggarette so I dont send out erratic hate filled text messages, I throw my phone into my pocket and speed up my pace. I walk along prospect park west and move against the traffic, the idea that my purest form of self only exists digitally, and on a few crumpled up peices of paper begins to bother me. Finally, I reach Flatbush. The cheap restaurants and neon lit store fronts seem to bring a calm over me, and though at that moment I realize I hate my parents, I dont mind, because there is so much to be distracted by.
I wake up this morning, and head once again into the city for school. I walk along the side of my campus and stare into the vacant eyes of other privelaged, jaded, students. I imagine myself, as if in some foreign film, screaming at the top of my lungs "DONT YOU SEE? I AM YOUR KING, CRUCIFY ME! ". But then I laugh to myself, cause I'm just so fucking clever
