It’s not that I can’t sleep, it’s that I don’t, I won’t. Petulant, I refuse.
I will not rest in my pointless desire to control the outcome of a million variables.
My mind is a fairground. The impossible isn’t quite. The colors are bright and varied. The inaccessible is within reach. I skip, awake, laughing, in dreamtime.
Lately though it’s a house of horrors. Stagnant inaction. Steeped in grey and black. Rife with uncertainty. Pulsing with fear, even remorse.
I can stop the ride at any time, though I refuse. Securely fastened. Strapped in my cramped and cold metal car, I ride on to see what fright I have hidden around the next turn of the tracks.
Supremely comfortable in my discomfort.
S. Conde
It may get really scary when the next turn of the tracks unveils us sitting in a fantasmagoric merry go round that just does that , go incessantly around . Although there is always the possibility that the ride out turns into a path within . The shadows may then become a friendly blanket and the nightmares a gentle thrill.
For some unknown reason your words awoke in me the atmosphere of the ” unbearable lightness of being”. somehow you manage to describe what I see as a profound sadness with a fleeing smile . Beautiful .
Beautifully written. Thank you Jacques.
I say – I know …
You refuse, I refuse…comfortable discomfort…lovely. Me too
So sorry to hear that. 😉 Thank you, glad / sad you can relate. Misery does love company. Your comment was lovely.
just wanted to write thank you 🙂 loved your article.
Thank you.