dinner music

i can’t seem to break free. i can see the walls. i can feel them. but i can’t penetrate. i wait for things to happen instead of making them happen. that’s certainly no way to penetrate a wall. or so i hear.

when i was in nyc, we were sitting around at the dinner table, and my friend W described me as “proper,” and i could not tell if she was joking or not. i was not trying to be proper. i just didn’t feel that there was room at the dinner table for me to express myself, or i felt like i had nothing to say. or if i had something to say, it would come out wrong. or even if it came out not wrong, no one would get it. so i said nothing.

but it reminded me that i am living in a container. with a tight lid. why it is so hard to unscrew the lid?

i keep myself in check from getting hurt. from disappointment. from thwarted expectation. but therein lies the danger.

this insular world i have built around me is a place where change does not happen. and i desperately need that to happen. but i can’t seem to make it happen.

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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