Tuesday, January 26, 2010

I shall obey these dubious instructions, borne out of sadness, questioning and despair. Why I know not, except that it is only from the truth that hurts that you can find that elusive thread of freedom. Never in my life has intoxicating happiness, golden chances beyond belief, or technicolor rainbows proved to be anything more than leprechaun gold. It is only in the displaced feeling of walking through strange lands, be it unexplored sections of shophouses, back roads, and streets parallel to the main road, in the rain, or the fairytale snow turned to treacherous ice, or the unfamiliar new pathways of the brain, where you find yourself able to conjure up signposts and landmarks. The grass is the same color everywhere, the dogs are all equally tempted to lick you and nose trees. I decide to run through the snow, but I will not go off the path. I don't want to stop running, even though you tell me to. But I do know this - if I don't, eventually I will tire and it will get too cold.

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