Analog Anonymity

Where The City Can’t See

June 9th, 1994

There it is. Those lights. That smell. My mind is whirling. I feel dazed, as if I might pass out any second. I need to get away.

I’m tortured, stretched across multiple realities. Multiple lives. All these minds that are trying to force themselves into one great big singular thought. I can’t. I can’t hear myself. My lungs are choked full of smog. My eyes are red and watering.

Street lamps are struggling to stay on. The flickering makes me want to run. I don’t know where to; only that I want to run. Not to hide. I want to get someplace. I need to go somewhere. It’s all entertaining, I’m sure. But I…

This isn’t all for nothing. Maybe it’s make-believe, but even then it’s not for nothing. Our scattered stories come together like a constellation, only it’s lost its way. We have to find our way back to the way we were meant to be.

The lights that drown out the stars are tempting us towards something. Maybe we ought to follow them; maybe we ought to ignore them. It’s hard to tell from down here. But when I stand in the middle of the freeway waiting for the final blow, nothing gives. The rain continues to fall. The cars continue to drive. I’m left behind like a ghost. Nothing has happened.

They were all moving while I chose to stand still. I should be moving too. But one thing I’ve learned is that I’m not meant to follow the same roads that they do. I’ve seen the illusion for what it is. I don’t get a prize for it; I just know that there’s something else. Hell, maybe it’s something dangerous. Too dangerous for any of us.

If I focus, if I listen, I know I can tell where it’s coming from. Maybe you’ll meet me there. I hope that you do. I’m so close. I can tell. I’m close. But there’s still so much yet to be done.

These people are all so lonely. They’re all so sad. They’re pathetic. They aren’t meant to be that way. They shut out their senses and turn themselves into shackled servants serving a lifeless master. I’m not the same. It’s not that I’m special. I’m a defect. I couldn’t be like them even if I wanted to be. Not even if it spared me heartache.

So, I’ll hurt and I’ll bleed. I’ll crawl and I’ll cry. I’ll cough up dust and I’ll writhe in pain. But I’ll get back up. I’ll get up again and again and again. Not because I want to but because I have to. I can’t die.

I’ve been belittled. I’ve been betrayed. I’ve been ignored. I’ve been cast out. This is natural. Like oil and water. Like north and south on a magnet. I was not meant for this. I was not meant for them. But I know…