Of pigs and paradise

What I'm most afraid of is that when I emerge from this bunker, the world will no longer be there.

Will you still be there waiting for me? With a sandwich in one hand and a beer in the other? An unlit cigarette in your mouth as your arms flail about as a gesture of welcome. Will the sidewalk still have dried gum on it and broken bottles strewn about? Will the bar tender remember me? Will the music still be frightfully loud and just one selection shy of the perfect song? Will dreamy eyes look away? Will my spirits jump? Will the moon be a spotlight? Will your car look like shit and will you still be too fucked up to drive it? Will you find just the right words to say at 4AM and will I be awake enough to realize that we were both created for these moments?

What I'm most afraid of is that when I emerge from this bunker, the world will no longer be there. You will not be around to appreciate the person I've become in my time away.

I remember now the songs i sang at 5, at 6, at 7 years of age, when all that I wanted was to be large enough to hold you in my arms more completely. I remember now what it was like to question reality at every moment and to feel simultaneously out of place and comfortable, tucked snuggly into a space suit that seems to fit me like a glove. I nod at strangers but they do not nod back. They do not realize that I appreciate that they are strangers. They only wonder whether they've met me before. They have not. 

What I'm most afraid of is that when I emerge from this bunker, the world will no longer be there. My body is becoming older with each passing second but I don't feel tied to the "prison of time".

If you are an addict, a journeyman, you have to create the cancer in yourself so that you can then remove it. The unlucky ones build that big white wall too strong and too high around themselves and are never able to climb out. The world MUST become a series of small tasks and ephemeral pleasures in order to be bearable. Otherwise drown in your own tears child. Roll the stone up that hill only to be flattened by it as it rolls back over you. The air is dense. The water is cold. The distance to the sink is a journey of a thousand miles. 

What I'm most afraid of is that when I emerge from this bunker, the world will no longer be there. Stay with me, even if only for a few more minutes. Stay. Until I fall asleep. I Remember now that my life is a fairy tale. The world is a poorly told joke. When I wake up I will eat you for breakfast.