Airplane

Photograph by Jose Padua
The problem isn’t so much finding the right day
to stop smoking, drinking, doing meth, sniffing glue,
practicing self-asphyxiation or any of the myriad
of vices available for human consumption or participation.
Once you get to that point it’s already too late,
you’ve already fucked up and wasted so many days,
months, and years that you’re never going to get back
and as we all know there’s nothing more precious than time,
nothing in such short supply unless you’re a member
of the non-working, non-caring upper class,
but even they eventually die, lose their sight
hearing and sometimes their minds.

I have a theory that goes, What if we picked
the right day to start smoking, drinking,
doing meth, sniffing glue, or practicing
self-asphyxiation? Like so many things,
it could be that it’s all a matter of timing,
and if we picked the right day to start
we’d be able to handle all our vices,
and we’d do them at just the right frequency,
the right strength, at the right times,
and with the right people.

None of this being ratted out to the cops
or buying from some dude who turns out
to be a narc; none of that sore gritty feeling
in your lungs, the waking up in the morning
with horrible people who love all the songs you hate,
or think all the books you love are boring
or worse don’t even read, and of course
none of that accidental and embarrassing
hanging of yourself in a hotel room,
hell no, when you were just trying
to have some goddamn fun.

I know this is just a theory and not all theories
reach the level of Einstein’s on relativity,
and there are so many theories that have been forgotten
because they don’t provide anything that’s useful,
but listen: I’m an artist, which means
I’m not aiming for practicality,
and I sure as hell am not working my ass off
to provide you with ways to decorate
your goddamn lifestyle, because I’m aiming, excuse me,
for the fucking stars.

Some nights I feel my heart, beating fast,
and I blink my eyes, so sore and dry,
and I’m tired and sleepy and drunk
because of all the things I’ve quit,
and I’m high on all the things I never try to do anymore,
each lost moment lifting my spirits
as my hair turns gray and
another wrinkle appears on my forehead.

I stretch my legs beneath me,
lay my hands gently on my lap,
and turn the volume all the way down
to prepare myself for landing
because this airplane has come
from a place far, far away
and I feel too alive to be measured,
too lifted to seek asylum,
too much like a seed to do
anything but grow.

-Jose Padua

Photograph by Jose Padua

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2 responses to “Airplane

  1. Re: paragraph 2. I’m uncertain that an addictive personality will simply allow maturity to reign as we add vices. Typically, when I add something to my life, I overdose on it… whether it’s good or bad.

    • shenandoahbreakdown

      yes, certainly, though as later lines say “not all theories/ reach the level of Einstein’s on relativity.” I’m not trying to present a real possibility, here, but rather a dream/wish that I might still have my excesses and survive…

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