“Between Both Realities”
In my dusky view, I see no light besides the screen. It never flickers, never dimmed, a pure white light is all there is besides its messy domain, covered by traces of rage and disruption; spills, wrappings, spoons and a fork, along with bottles and a razor—some Jack, Guinness, and sodas to mix. My peripheral vision envelop remains; my gaze, a gem. The light is too dim, but I see words inscribed within it: words to live by, words I don’t normally use during conversations, words that I often see or hear from the canon, and words that can sing its praise or mourn for itself. These words are my meditation as I sit cross-legged on top of my retirement, covered with regrets, keeping my slouched back warm.
The silence is endearing.
Raising my head as I lean my vision to the left, I see rays of light, divided evenly through the shade, crossing the boundaries of realities; the outside and me, separated by a window, never too wide nor steep. But my eyes sure squints. Indistinct yelling, inaudible chatter, soon transforms into a deafening silence. Truly, it is endearing. A gentle sigh is all I need, a distant longing with it as I turn my gaze back to this rectangular thing. This is reality. My reality. This light never blinds me; it’s true to itself, along with its words that I beget and never regret. I turn my head right and I see an apparition—ah, papers, books, pens and a tissue box. I glare over them, of course, scanning the surrounding for any valuable resources I can include on my next writing but all I see are regrets, a poor man’s manuscript of David Lewis, some ontological essays, and papers with red marks on it as if blood were spilled for the constitutional amendment to pass. A sad sight to behold, but what is sadness? Its word neither conjures a physical embodiment nor an emotion that lingers. This word is primitive, if I say so myself. Often, people would say “I’m sad”, but that’s too empty; what makes them sad is purely subjective, so why do they incorporate their different sense-perceptions or subjects to a word that is denoted as, in a sense, objective? Is sadness universal?
...
Pfft.
This is an entirely new form of masochism; my thoughts overpopulating me as if they have nothing better to do than to throw a bachelor party inside my head, leaving empty bottles, broken frames, shattered glasses, and used cumrags all over. And it’s not even Friday yet.
I turn my gaze back towards the light—I see the words haven’t multiplied, nor have they killed someone. Yet. But as I turn my eyes towards the bottom-right end of the screen, the numbers entail sure surprised me; 11:30 AM. Ah, it’s that time of the day again. Traversing through both realities is arduous, but that’s just the reality in which I live in.
Behpren, Ano daw?
:D
But seriously, all of us have multiple realities so to speak, depending on what shoes we currently fill. We just try our best to get things done and move on to the next one at hand.
The reality is, you're still going to shovel snow ... finished or not finished writing, that is reality.
Hoping to read more beh.