The Signboard Quest

'Well there's not a lot for you to give if you're giving in

And there's not a lot for you to feel if you're not feeling it'

-Fix You Up, Tegan and Sara

I need to stop and figure out what I want. I'm moving in so many directions and yet eerily still. Picture an amoeba with its ugly pseudo-podia expanding in several directions trying so hard to engulf the food particle that'll save it. Except that when the food particle merges into its pathetic amoebic nothingness, there's really not much left to do but expand, again. And hence it puts itself through the ridiculous motions of ambiguity without realizing that its existence, in particular, is pretty much inconsequential considering the larger scheme of things. Stupid-fucking-microscopic-amoeba.

I'm headed towards nothing. I'm pushing everyone away. I feel like a damaged factory product, like something that's getting inspected before it can finally meet its fate in a melting furnace.

I'm wandering around in places I've never been, only no one can really see me. Or maybe it's the other way around. I'm wandering about where I've always been and boy, does my pathetic blob of existence stare you blank in the face.

I like to think of how people perceive me when they graciously do, only to end up with the same monotonous impression. And when I'm done with this fruitless self-deprecating exercise, I just come up other ways to fritter my life away.

I wonder how they'd see me differently if they knew who I really am. I wonder how they'll judge me if they know of the nights I've spent shivering on an abandoned floor while they screamed and broke things, the times I was woken up in stark terror by the petty bruising, the highway I walked at 3 in the morning cause all I wanted was to get run over by one of those crude over-speeding trucks, the stupidity of it all when I spent so long travelling back and forth in the same train because I was scared to get off it and face life, the fractional moment enmeshed in an absolutely terrifying immobility when someone so much as brushed past me, the blissful feeling of relief I felt when I realized I could fall off an eleven-storey building and it'd still be alright.

Okay, so maybe that last one was just a petty alcohol high, but it'd help if I turned around and walked into a STOP signboard. It's happened to people. Lucky bastards, all of them.

So I was saying, God bless Tegan and Sara.