© Justin Lane
sitting in the corner of the brown plaid couch, cuddling with the pillows next to great grandma as little sister sucks her thumb and kneads the turkey flesh of grammy hanner's under arm. she doesn't mind as her conscious and unconscious mind envelopes the escapades of "days of our lives", slowly progressing through the mediocre, yet some how hard to follow story line of the make believe characters who's lives seem to be never ending, full of drama, ecstasy and disappointment with no resolution until the demise of the character they play, which somehow surpasses normal lifespan or imagination by leaps and bounds. as i watch and let my mind wander off to my lonely paper dolls with their own far more interesting stories or the pile of pine needles right outside the back door that's left waiting, screaming for my little body to dive right in, i wonder what life would be like in the journey of the make believe. in this life thats created merely for afternoon entertainment, for those that can bare to watch it, live by it and project their dreams and fascinations in to it, we let our lives trickle away with the mindless drama that ensues between the commercials.
never taking those days seriously but treasuring the memories of wasting time with people that no longer have that opportunity, i pause to wait patiently as the hourglass flips over again for the millionth time in this life. "Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives." sitting here, working hard or hardly working as the line between the former and the latter blur i listen...
"And the young man looked straight forward.
And he heard the other passengers speaking of other things,
or they were reading or trying to sleep.
And they hadn't noticed the magic.
And the young man put his head to one side,
closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep.
There was nothing else to do,
just to listen to the sound of the engine,
and the sound of the tires
in the snow"
Tom Waits- Nirvana