M
Y
S
T
I
C��
T
A
C
O��
S
T
A
N
D
Waiting ... September 15, 2004
can't sleep? come to the 24/7 truckstop and visit me. i'm at table 3, the scary looking girl in glasses. the one with pale skin, dark eyes, and an old laptop held together with duct tape sitting in front of her. i'm just sitting here smoking a disconsolate cigarette in the corner with the computer switched on in front of me but otherwise ignored. no. i won't come out to the parking lot to check out the shitty interior of your truck. don't ask. not even for a twenty. not even for a fifty. well. maybe for a fifty. shit, now my cigarette's gone out. time for some more watered down luke warm coffee. cream and sugar are for rookies. so here i sit, contemplating the uselesness of the flashing traffic lights i can see out the window. red. green. no one cares what they say. flash, flash, flash they go, not knowing, not caring how unimportant they are right now. sleep walking through the night. no one to boss around, no cars to bully, they flicker like half smothered candles, waiting for the sun to rise so they can once again be the little kings of their domain that they are. it makes me feel a deep lonliness to watch them, so i turn my eyes away, but my mind is stuck in a loop. growth, yellow sickness, bloody death, colors being born, feeding, flicking out, being reborn. deposed royalty joyfully plunging knives into eachother's backs, over and over. and lonliness. powerless grey days of swampy insomnia scrape into nights of silent isolation. my eyelids are so heavy some nights i fear i might trip over them. still, they refuse to fall all the way closed as they should and so here i sit. waiting. waiting for an end to my lonliness. waiting for something, anything, to happen to take my attention away from this life for just a few moments. all the regulars like me are comfortable, drinking coffee, ignoring eachother, pretending we all don't want the same thing. no one moves, we're all frozen to our plastic seats. we are the instruments of our own salvation, but instead we choose to sit, wreathed in our own separate clouds of cigarette smoke and painful emptyness. we like our damnation, thankyouverymuch. a group of teenagers comes in, obviously drunk, loudly shouting and giddy in their not so secret rebellion. we watch them for awhile, hoping for fodder to add to our internal monologues. forever grumbling, forever knowing how to set things straight, but we've all momentarily forgotten how to stand up and act. just one more moment and one of us is going to do it. just one more. frozen and lost in a maze of apathy we wait. come visit us, we're all here, waiting...waiting...waiting...
- previous - next -
- the old -
profile -
leave a note -
contact -
DiaryLand makes me put this link here.
Please click on it before they cut off another one of my fingers!