From Wild Rose Country To The Rose City

Some narrative I wrote about RIGHT NOW......and what is coming.....soon...... A narrative.....

 

The last few words I will now write before my time comes that I must become disconnected from the machine....

 

This newly discovered fascination with my latest addiction led me to some temporary epiphanies, as I took hold of them for not the first time, but the time it was really serious....this sudden need to feed my creative desires with all the worry and stress and frustration that has led me to this point....where my destiny urges me onward with great speed and much to do and little time to complete all tasks of such huge insurmountable undertakings, as my brain and body are slowly paying the price.

 

I can smoke all the dope I want to, but that does not make my necessity to get the things done that I must do within the allotted time I have given myself....the new worries I had received by telephone today only making the urgency of the situation unfolding hit home even harder than before. It isn’t even about what I want anymore, but what others want of me, what they expect from me, like I am returning from the West like some lonesome legend or character in their dreams from my memories, to the expectant crowd of well-wishers, acquaintances, friends and relatives that are waiting for me on the other side of the nation....

 

And the strain it takes me to do this! The confusion of sorting, packing, preparing, loading, doing, being....all this will come to me like storm and like a storm I will fall on my homeland with deafening thunder and lightning to proudly proclaim “I have made it there, and back again!”, as though I had completed some great deed or quest out in the icy solitude of the gateway to the north, spending these last two years hammering an existence amongst the isolated solitude of the millions massing in their lives of wage and labour and stuff they own and trucks they drive, heads bent low against the world as they trudge on their existences and see nothing but the paycheque that lies ahead and of the simple dreams they wish to chase and finding it here (seemingly) in the vastness of this Country of the Wild Rose....

 

....only that I return to all that I had once known, in the Rose City, and slowly had grown to despise...the rust-belt run-down scenery, that overpowering apathy, the high school games they still continues to play well into their thirty-somethings, living every week for a weekend to cry the blues about it Sunday mornings....the sadness, the decay of souls, the feeling that all that is here is all that will be or ever be, and that I could not do any more things there, and that time had come and gone wasted amongst the years and beers and tears of my times there.

 

The times I lovingly remember are also there as well: those secret hidden laces only I knew of where I would go to sit and think and smoke by the lonesomeness of the park benches that lined the canal banks on endless summer evening....the midnight moonlit madness of laughter and hidden alcohol and secret missions to see the visions we dreamt up in our hallucinogenic mindset…the clandestine house parties that we attended like secret societies with ritualistic ambitions….the unending drives to see Niagara Falls on warm July evenings, windows rolled down on our cars as we blasted the night away in clouds of smoky haze and heavy metal....the endless nights of bands, bars, music, girls, beers, drugs, smokes, friends, laughter, happenings....all were returning and coming at me like me a freight train, barrelling in singular force coming straight at me, with all my after and destiny and memory rolled into one about to crash into me and perhaps run me over...

 

And I run headlong into it, unafraid, unabashed, and unsure....

 

Reviews

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First, I love your style, I love interior monologue and the way thoughts seem to tumble over one another. You write very smoothly and it's captivating as well.

Second, you capture the freedom of youth very well in your last full paragraph.

Ah, moving back home after being liberated and set free... it's hard, and I can only imagine it would be harder returning to a quiet town.

It's an intriguing piece you've written, thank you for sharing.