people unsound of the mind, and unhappy with the world have imaginary friends. they call them jack. or tyler. depending on whether you vote for the shining or the fight club. people high on newsroom conspiracies and invisible wmd's have imaginary fears. they call them muslims. or any of the equally islamic names of oil-rich countries. depending on whether you vote republican or democratic. those with vivid imagination, and lotsa spare time, have imaginary lives. they call them hell or heaven. depending on whether they vote for suicide or an eternal cycle of pause, play and repeat. i am one of them. i lead an imaginary life.
let me,or something like it,explain.
i live alone. but in the company of the girl of my dreams. i don't talk to people. but my jaws hurt reeling out my day to her. i don't eat much. but i light my rationed cigarette after every home cooked meal. i don't have a home. but i try painting every wall red and blue. i don't have kids. but i help them with their homework everyday. i know am losing it. but i have everything to the point of excess. i have the best imaginary life in the universe. every unimportant thing that happens, is an important plot point. every new indie rock song, a thankless addition to the original sound track of the life i don't have. singing in praise of the people we are both not. not yet.
forever suspended in anticipation. beauty delayed on arrival. and a future of unmitigated goodness, lost in transit.
freeze frames and picture books of anniversaries that never happened. conversations and minor conflicts that almost seem real. walking barefoot on sand and foam, hand in hand with thin air. lulled into sleep by the whispers of a cold wave. painting stick-people with my fingertips, on the small of her back. and the nape. both made out of regulated hallucinations. making shapes out of cotton candy clouds. and laughing back at the memory of her face. and her laughing back at the memory of mine. uncorking wine and tinkling tall glasses that are always empty, and never spill over. li'l triumphs over everydayness, gloriously memorable victories over the general dictatorship of boredom, sweeping acquisitions of lifestyle enhancements. all ignorant of their strange intangibility and obvious impossibility.
invitation to a display of blank painting frames. holiday cruises on ghost ships through dead fish. and weekends in the basement. with the music on mute.
i love all forms of my life. love the way it pans out of lush green grasslands to reveal one winged monsters. determined to take their loss of flight out on my wish to soar. i love my wished for life. with all its predictable drama. and the imaginary long faces and even longer freeways to reality and perspective. i love the girl of my dreams. i know she is real. i know she is out there. somehow dreaming up the same impossible dream. reaching out through the haze and hate, that goes around as respectable denizens of this dying planet, battling out her own army of scampering personal demons. scheming a way out to me at the other end of the labyrinth. in my fairy tale, she has to reach me while i am still standing. and for me to get back up on my feet, i'll have to hit ground soon.
and wake up.