Two decades over two millennia

The story I'm going to tell, is not my story. It is the story of someone, who is telling a story which is very similar to his own. The dream I will remember, won't be mine. It's the dream of someone who remembers a dream, that is very similar to his own. I think of stories I like to make stories. To tell them. I know this must sound like the dream of little Iasonas. What will he be when he grows up. When I wake up, it'll happen again. It'll start all over...

Tuesday, November 06, 2012

My dark passenger

I just know there's something dark in me and I hide it.

I certainly don't talk about it, but it's there always,

this Dark Passenger.

And when he's driving, I feel alive, half sick

with the thrill of complete wrongness.

I don't fight him, I don't want to. He's all I've got.

My dark passenger is like a trapped coal miner, always tapping; always letting me know it's in there, still alive.