Saturday, April 22, 2017

Swan, swan, hummingbird, hurrah.

We're all free now...




I keep telling myself that the project with the lake is done, but I'm drawn back, me and my old dog to the shore to watch the ripples in the water and the birds feeding.  The swans were in close, dredging the mud kicked up by the rain.  Back to the man-made nature diorama we plunked down right here in the middle of one of the world's busiest cities so we'd have a place to find... to find... words?  I found no words there at the lakeside but I found the swans and a couple scrappy ducks.  There was border music drifting over from across the lake, a Quincea├▒era maybe. A cookout celebrating something or another that sounded festive and happy.
Happy.

Am I happy?

I suppose I've been more unhappy, but I'm not exactly unhappy either. I'm just not happy. The opposite of happy isn't necessarily unhappy. It's just "not happy."

It was a sort of melancholic day, gray and rainy. Not a walkabout day and not a stay at home day. Not a get shit done day but not a do fuck-all day. I beat it out early and went up to the March for Science on the Upper West Side. There were brief bursts of excitement. There were drums, but folks weren't beating them so hard. There were the perfunctory chants and shouts here and there and a couple minutes of yelling outside the Trump Hotel at Columbus Circle.

But people seemed... tired. It could have been me, but everyone seemed to have been just going through the motions. Now, that's something I can certainly relate to. The outrage that was consuming my life after the election last November just wasn't sustainable. I've had to withdraw from the fray. It all seemed so... like... this shit is so much bigger than me and I felt like I was pissing into a stiff wind. It was eating me up.

And somehow the whole affair today rang false. There was no energy. There was no... hope.

Hope.

We were ducks and swans swimming about in a filthy man-made lake that we were never, ever, fucking ever meant to spend our lives in, sticking our long necks down into grimy water to pull up whatever it is that we need to keep us going.

Well, shit. That got dark pretty quickly.

But that's just it. The darkness is always there just beneath the surface.

The Crocodiles would say just fake it 'til ya make it and sooner or later the light will shine in.

I'm faking it.

And I'm tired.

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