there was a time when the road opened up to me, and i fell into it, inert. breaking the fall with my wrists, somewhat embarrassed. but had it been you instead of me, i would have told you that you have nothing to be embarrassed about. quite the contrary. heed these words, i insisted, although i know not what of i speak.

for days now, many days, i have made gestures here and there to this and that person, never really following through. beginning things and then withdrawing. detached. i’m not sure what is going on here. in this psyche. the thoughts churn incessantly. words, words, and more words. but empty empty words. beginning things and then stopping. and then forgetting what i had begun. and then remembering. and then feeling embarrassed for not having the tenacity, drive or focus to carry things through.

i’m not quite sure what is going in this psyche. for someone who is so concerned about their voice, it’s remarkable how incommunicative you can be. it makes one wonder.

it’s like you’re waiting for time to stand still and someone to come to your rescue. and just when you know it’s time to take action, something stops you. keeps you contained, ineffectual, unsatisfied. there’s got to be a way to push through it.

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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