How many of us live two lives? One is the public mask, the outward display we show to the world: our best face forward. Then the you that only you know about, all the secret things you will utmost do to protect from prying eyes β that's something else. For three years, years after my breakthrough, I wore normalcy like a cloak, a thin veneer over the hunchback psyche underneath. I think I wore the thing pretty well. I became the company's poet at the place I worked (I used to send everyone poems I wrote in emails). A few, select number I let in on the joke. But mostly, I was business as usual.
I would go home and I'd be alone. Left to myself, the little cartoons (like Jesus Christ and His angels) would sporadically appear. I knew what they were, the hallucinations β remember, this was when I had become sane (for all intents and purposes) β but I would still occasionally talk to them. Does anyone, though, anyone out there live just the one life? Is there anyone out there with nothing to hide?
It's all right, I think. Keep your secrets. I don't know what this world would be if all the people everywhere decided they'd share the dark things about themselves with everyone they met. Perhaps it would be a world where no one could look another person in the eye, ever again.
LG
11:33am tuesday, 29th january
Yes that would be verrrrry interesting. What would be more interesting though, is if ppl verbalized every thought in their minds. Coupled with what you wrote, we would all be roving madmen suffering from tourettes.
( but admit it, we can get like that when we're drunk)
cutebutstupid
12:03am monday, 4th february
hello- I love reading you from time to time. I hope you don't mind me quoting some of your stuff on mine.
thanks.
http://screamingvoices.blogspot.com
Stand
12:40am monday, 4th february
As long as you credit me, that's perfectly OK. I saw your post. Proper.
jason.........
2:24pm monday, 11th february
I never stop looking through my eyes.
Every thing I see is so far and distant.
The picture that has been painted is so gray,
If any light were to shine it would only create a shadow.
My canvas is torn and wrinkled, with no space left to fill.
Itβs hard to tell top from bottom, left from right.
As the paint dries the colors slide into each other, no borders to be found.
Where it hangs is the boundaries of the horizon.
Every man stops to look occasionally, but hardly notice the significance.
My picture has been painted for years but changes with the wind.
When the picture stops changing then you will know who I am.
LG
Stand