The Great Depression was nothing beside this new dawn toward which those men and women laboured. Now we sit and stare and wonder where it all went wrong. Now we wonder if the scant provisions in our hands will be enough to barter for those things we need to(more) keep on surviving. Now we wonder why we cling to survival at all.
This town is drowned. Drowned in its fears, in its tears and in its bars, where sweet release is found in the one commodity a man can purchase without forfeiting his all, only his soul.(less)
I live in a silent, drowned town. The Earth moves too slowly beneath my feet, the hours and days stretching to infinity. When I'm inside, I feel caged and listless. Everything bores me and the thought of moving tires me.
(more) When I dare to venture outside, nothing feels real. The world feels made from plastic and I feel like need to scream to wake myself and everyone else up. All the noises and shouts sound like a soundtrack being played on repeat and I feel unmoored, drifting slightly offshore and off course. I want to throw myself at a train or kiss a stranger just to see if there are consequences, if the world functions on a greater scale than simply beneath my skin.
In the dead of night or the brink of morning, when all is still and quiet, I feel alone. I walk through empty streets devoid of life and I wonder if anything exists or if I am asleep and living in a ghost town, an imitation of reality. I run my finger along a leaf, feeling its ridges and edges against the pad of my finger. I drop it because it feels like a lie in a solid shape. (less)