Random Randoms--revised

I trip over the faded undefined boundaries every day. A desperate Nadia balance beam dividing the Old and New taunts me. And my unstyle remains obscure (and usually offends others).

But Their Certainty resides in Bland blind living, and They are churned Sour by real Individuality.

And so, Narcissism sits soundly on my shoulder.

Last night I dreamt I entered a sci-fi Stimulation Bar. Patrons seeking escape had two options (each in exchange for a Fee and a hangover):

The first option invited the Guest to temporarily relinquish his subconsciousness to a wall screened in white. Upon the screen his image appeared, and his image partook in the Guest's deep-set, subconscious Mind's most Radical fantasies. Aroused into a hypertonic state, his bodyshell sat Frozen, watching the Sins of his Suconsciousness on the screen.

Alternatively, the more voyeuristic (and often less brave) Guest could choose to simply Witness the images of his fellow Guests' subconscious indulgences. With popcorn and cocktails served ringside, these particular Guests were entertained by the sacrificial subjectivity of the subconscious Deviances of others.

The hangovers (and Fee) varied. The willing Guests were left with temporary flashbacks of euphoria, which caused coping (and returning to) monotony challenging. The Voyeurs were posed with less physical risk; however, their resulting hangover of hovering Regret and Shame were infinite (and innately) painful.

Continue:

My cousin drove his mother home in an Amateur bodybag. One hundred years removed from The Homeland, and now she Rests in bubble wrap and cardboard. And you think This is poetry, but Reality ruins the Joke.

I recently caught a glimpse of My hand in good lighting. It reminded me of my Childhood. Virgin flesh, pink nail beds, and smooth fingers without any ring-lines triggered Melancholy.

My spirit feels like it is slouching; perhaps She is slowly decaying with an awareness of mortality.

But my finger taps to the distant tune. I want to keep up with the expected Pace, but I am often distracted. I lose count of the Beat set in double-time.

I cannot date a man who peels his banana carelessly. Or one who veers astray from the serrated edge of a paper towel. And no, these are NOT metaphors.

I walk into the moving Shadows to address my future, but endless Interruptions are insatiable. I sometimes daydream of waking up with Amnesia or a different face. Cast me away on a fishing boat to Sea, and I will be renewed.

I recently cut my hair short and tomorrow I might skip Lorealesce. A "sick day" seems imminent. I want to write beautiful words and release them on Bond paper to a blue stream during business hours.

And I have been told my mind skips around. And Maybe it is true, or maybe I am bored. And maybe I am constantly performing "gap analysis" on Society. Petrified by The Mediocre, I would rather keep moving.

And still, Narcissism sits soundly on my shoulder.