prolonged congestion

i returned to this city after my vocal cord surgery was temporarily aborted due to this virus that has hit me rather hard.

… and that’s when it occurred to me that maybe sometimes the best response is no response. the answer to the question i had never bothered to ask.

if i could have asked the question, maybe i would have used the words what is one to do with all of these real and imagined slights, indignities and feeling of disgrace, of betrayal?

it’s one of those questions that i hate to express, but not asking it doesn’t make the experience of the question less real.

maybe the only real indignity is the mind that insists on cultivating these kinds of questions, until they wear a person down.

the real question is whether i can rise above the real and the imagined (even though it’s all imagined) and find a new way to live in a place one has almost always lived…

or is it better to start off in an entirely new city where i know not a soul and can begin with an entirely blank slate. which would be more challenging? how does one blossom and where is the place to do that?

i’m beginning to like the blank slate idea. but it’s also tempting to have this surface foundation from which to build a new life. i’ve never really invested in or embraced living in the same city where my body resides.

i really have no idea what i want, nor what i am doing.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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