morning after
It felt fresh yesterday, at midnight or three am - while we were sitting up together. It felt new and exciting and invigorating. Felt interesting and intriguing and suprising. Felt like it might really mean something or change something or make something better somehow.
What a pity that feeling didn't last past last night. What a shame early this morning we woke up from that dream again, realizing where we were and remembering who we are. Recalling, through the fog, what we were all doing there.
It's a shame it didn't last, though, that feeling. That fresh, new, alive, awake feeling. While it did, I felt like I could do anything - like I could fly...
Maybe too many people felt like they could fly yeseterday. Maybe too many people tried. For building tops and skyscraper roofs, from speeding, drunken cars on iced-over highways.
I'll avoid the news reports this morning. I don't want to know how many people woke up with the same feeling in their gut, with the same dread in their soul, with the same pounding in their head. Counting and recounting all the drinks they had, and realizing that the ill, sick feeling they've gotten can't be from too much booze. Realizing they slept in the wrong bed, ate at the wrong house, or were simply too quick to be satiated by the three-ring-pleasure-circus around them.
And in one blink of an eye, in one beat of the heart, they spent it all away.
I think I kept some for myself; managed to tuck some away under the matress so that in the morning, if I was wrong, I'd still have a chance. Half the world's population didn't do that. Half the world's population won't care.
But China, she's quiet this morning. With her paper walls and her blossoming pagodas and her wafting incence in her high-roofed temples. Meditating, praying for the improbable propriety and impossible peace of a west she doesn't want to infect her lands.
I can't say I blame her.
Take a look around. Take a look at the after-math of the after-parties of all the celebrations we flair up. Look at all the litter and the refuse and the men sleeping with other brother's wives, and the women entangled with other mother's boys. Look at all the fodder left on the ground after all the fireworks are out.
I hope we're proud of ourselves. Because, maybe, that'd help.
-RK
What a pity that feeling didn't last past last night. What a shame early this morning we woke up from that dream again, realizing where we were and remembering who we are. Recalling, through the fog, what we were all doing there.
It's a shame it didn't last, though, that feeling. That fresh, new, alive, awake feeling. While it did, I felt like I could do anything - like I could fly...
Maybe too many people felt like they could fly yeseterday. Maybe too many people tried. For building tops and skyscraper roofs, from speeding, drunken cars on iced-over highways.
I'll avoid the news reports this morning. I don't want to know how many people woke up with the same feeling in their gut, with the same dread in their soul, with the same pounding in their head. Counting and recounting all the drinks they had, and realizing that the ill, sick feeling they've gotten can't be from too much booze. Realizing they slept in the wrong bed, ate at the wrong house, or were simply too quick to be satiated by the three-ring-pleasure-circus around them.
And in one blink of an eye, in one beat of the heart, they spent it all away.
I think I kept some for myself; managed to tuck some away under the matress so that in the morning, if I was wrong, I'd still have a chance. Half the world's population didn't do that. Half the world's population won't care.
But China, she's quiet this morning. With her paper walls and her blossoming pagodas and her wafting incence in her high-roofed temples. Meditating, praying for the improbable propriety and impossible peace of a west she doesn't want to infect her lands.
I can't say I blame her.
Take a look around. Take a look at the after-math of the after-parties of all the celebrations we flair up. Look at all the litter and the refuse and the men sleeping with other brother's wives, and the women entangled with other mother's boys. Look at all the fodder left on the ground after all the fireworks are out.
I hope we're proud of ourselves. Because, maybe, that'd help.
-RK
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