Imagine that all your life you have seen the same trees, the same houses, the same buildings, so many times, one day you forget to look at them, so similar in height, color and atmosphere it’s starting to seem a repetition.
Imagine that you become a sleepwalker, an overly self-conscious, ridicule fearing sleepwalker, if ever there could be a bigger irony …Whoever heard of a sleepwalker with a sense of ridicule?
Yet, however big the irony, the world seems a dull gray, a lulled white noise, inside a lulled white noise, inside a fearful notion that you are growing asleep while being awake.
Even so, your only major preoccupation is following this routine, branding it your lighthouse, makes you feel a certain numbed clarity inside. If everything is the same outside, less to feel inside and organize.
It seems that lately your soul is a closet with clothes neatly put on coat hangers and you won’t admit to any chaos or anything left out of control, no dirty socks under the bed, no dirty underwear in the hamper, no crumpled illusions scattered on the floor.
Buried deep down there is more a notion that something was forgotten but you feel so much in control of your own life and feelings that you can’t think of anything missing, this raging fear sometimes comes at you through sweaty panic attacks at night, just when you feel most confident you succeeded in mastering the environment and your own soul, a horribly devastating feeling that all is lost without being able to articulate, which ? who? what ? was lost, yet there it is, and it bites at you and hassles you for a true felt emotion, but since you went to therapy you also know how to manage that, so you become a truly civil man, a man of success in your own words.
One day a pigeon shits on your forehead, filling you with rage, this was not part of THE plan. Then you lift your head up and notice the sky, that awful and cloud bearing bastard, you remember your pent up agony, the one that made you turn to habit instead of experiment, the one that made you want to forget that you are alive, a creative process waiting to happen, a living, breathing thing, mix of cells and disease and chaos and now with a shit on top.
Imagine that you strip all of your clothes and walk naked under the winter sun, the cold is unforgiving and suddenly you are so horribly and violently alive that it makes you sick to your stomach, so you puke, right there, for everyone to see and they point at you concerned or laughing, you feel dizzy, you start running because you don’t give a fuck anymore about how your flabby fat ass looks jiggling with the speed of run: you run, you run, you run, your throat starts tightening up, your lungs are burning, your whole body is burning and shivering with exhaustion, but you can’t give up now, now that the shit has hit the head, now that the world is new again, you notice those dull buildings… still dull but when you’re jogging past them, they seem to gain life too, and everything around, you run, you run , you run, you’re out of breath and so very naked. Shit, shit, shit! I am NAKED !
The sense of ridicule steps back in, the fear is terrifying, what have you done, working so hard to keep the 9 to 5 intact and now this?
You are completely out of your mind and it took a pigeon crapping mid flight to get there.
You get to your house and it’s all empty and untouched, just as you left it in the morning, the coffee cup, the smell of freshly squeezed orange, the burned toast, the shiny, clean, perfectly ordered house and you, you clothesless, shat on and confused idiot.
Suddenly the harmony becomes a parody, the one way becomes fuckitall, the pristine beaches of your thoughts become rat infested alleyways and you, you were the last to know that it was all building up to that. The therapist didn’t warn you and that’s the only human being who actually had any vague idea of what your life was like, the therapist was running naked all along, he didn’t give a fuck about you getting to the same place directly, I even think the therapist snorted cocaine in between sessions, but why do I care about that now??!!
I am slowly losing it but it rather looks like I’ve come to my senses, I’ve woken up to a perfectly acceptable nightmare and that’s the worst part of it.
Imagine that and then close your eyes.
And this is how you started doing all those nice things for yourself, you started jumping on your bed and walking barefoot in the house and around the house and greeting people you never knew before with a smile and started taking classes in things that seemed proper: like fencing and flower arrangements, you even dared to wear a red dress once at a party.
Imagine that, my friend, how close we were to not being crazy together, all it took was a pigeon to shit on you so I could meet you now, three years later from the day.