Looking back is always preferable to contemplating the future. See the axe looming over every endeavor. Time telescoping back through the years, its passage is all Ive ever known. A suburban treadmill cycling toward the precipice. That unfathomable abyss, waiting patiently; devoid of even darkness. Visualize what you see beyond your periphery. At least the past is concrete, it holds true value. Lacking in new possibilities but rich with vibrant and pleasant memories; that faded, attic box 8mm nostalgia of early life. Everything was plush, you were sheltered from the storm. On these lonely evenings spent digging through dusty boxes of ancient film reels, even the bad memory's that did burn you up at night take on the cinematic quality of retrospect. Nothing could have happened differently, no mistakes were made. Next week holds no certainty, Tragedy or at the very least disappointment and loss loom constantly on the horizon. In childhood life seemed such a gift, no time for worry. But for the last few years this anxiety has been building to a shrieking crescendo. Impossible to believe this is normal, this mortal suffering. The human condition was described to me as one of striving and perseverance. There must be a pill to cure this longing. The television which is never switched off advertises many such pills, this capsule is supposed to make the slumps more bearable, and the peaks more moderate. Just what I want; as it stands I can barely claw my way out of these jagged mental trenches, and the free falls from awe inspiring heights aren't much better; brief glimpses of heavenly mountaintops I dare not gaze too deeply into.
Time passes at a varying rate during moments of elation and anhedonia; make note of the blank stare on the withdrawing addicts face. For him life seems to pass at such a slow rate it could almost be called stasis. For the careless adolescent many years may pass in a blinding flash of bad decisions and wasted opportunities. And yes, those years really are gone forever, and the look of unfulfilled potential really is quite sullen, and what I want is an escape from my ego, because god surely must have died years ago, the eroding of his kingdom beginning even earlier; notice a lack of true magnanimity, good will is in short supply. Notice that base instinct diluted with the psychological quirks characteristic of inebriating substances control most the people I know. Notice that old friends tend now only to remind you of those towering expectations of youth. Go ahead and just squint those tired old eyes with rings of bruised flesh, take a real hard look at how we turned out.