image of a child dreaming underneath a starry sky

I wish my life could be as erratic as Charles Bukowski changed jobs in Factotum. To be able to quit apathy as it gnaws upon my soul. How magnificent life would be! To be able to do anything, absolutely anything just for the heck of it. To feel everything, to experience wonders that nature and man have so eloquently curdled all across this planet. There are so many exciting things to do, so many dreams to pursue and so many lives to live. Unfortunately all have been classified under the categorical pigeonholes of life. It is really sad that we have to find our place in the world, when we could explore untended territories like beasts from the past.

Oh! The thrill! The sheer thrill of it to run down that meadow of promised elation. Image the possibilities your life would throw at you then. Try this! Try that! Try everything! To be able to call quits the moment you feel indifference sneaking up on you. To be utterly unpredictable in what’s imminent. Isn’t that the dream?

I think everything in life boils down to moving on; not stopping and becoming stagnant at a place. Growing up I have seen change, a constant cumulative spinning wheel of augmentations that never cease to exist at any juncture. Maybe I see myself smothered by life’s torpor today, but tomorrow might sway in winds of change. With that hope, I bide by slithering into my persuasive indolence. I let time kill me.

I wreck myself beyond limit, knowing that I am surefire debris in the making. A labour so impossible that I could only take so much. Yet I am at it, forever at it, looking at dreams like a child wondering his thoughts loud at the night sky.

I wait patiently, listening to the ticking of the clock, giving more than what my body can give or endure, waiting for that change to come. That elusive big break where the universe nods at me and lets me be everything all at once in this very life.

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