Poignant Blurs

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"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours." - Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Starts and Stops

Some were drunk, or on psychedelic drugs
always in a sea of ciggarette smoke
delirious, worshipping beer
wanting to approach the power of death
elaborate experimenting to capture a moment
to have a sense of life fully free
and of death in the mad empty after-trip.

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[Emile was not insensitive per se. She was however, what one might call self-absorbed. It was ironic, considering she mostly placed her values in the realm of the "public use" i.e. it mattered more to her, if it mattered to her friends. This is not wrong. She valued those people. She valued the phase of her life, be that as it may, she strived to achieve more for herself, by knowing them.
Her problem, essentially, was that she identified them as always having something she lacked.]

Emile cried often, and for seemingly no reason. By all rights she was a very happy girl, at least on paper. Emile was happy, she unfortunately subscribed to the mentality that one is happy by the happiness they impart i.e. she based her happiness on the *reactions* of her actions on her friends faces, which was her only *in* to them.

She came from her hometown, which even then had been a stretched fit, she leaves that, to find what is beyond her grasp.

She is nothing but *coming of age* the cliche embodied.

It was a cliche and she knew it.

She kept to herself for that reason.
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It wasn't in Trina's nature to argue, even when she ought to for self-preservation. Trina ate less, Emile ate more. They were both instable and together they were a powder keg.

They were the best of friends.

They hung with a rough crowd. A yuppie crowd. They dressed up, behind closed doors, they didn't ask questions. They were all strong, they counted on this in each other., They didn't need to lean on the strength of each other as much as they needed to not feel responsible, for once, to trust those aroud you to take responsibility for their own persons.

That's the only way true sharing is possible.

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