Riding the subway

Riding the subway, my buzz is starting to falter.

I took a hit after work to hold me through, but maybe I miss-judged the potency or the dosage because I’m drifting up through the levels of awareness.

I’m dangerously close to seeing.

I don’t care to see, just drift from work to home in a fog. Seeing is awareness. Awareness of the humanity around me.

I wish to remain oblivious.

I see a boot, a rain boot brightly colored I glance up and it’s a girl.

I don’t do well with humanity, it’s chaotic and wet and sticky. I work with machines. They are predictable.

I used to be normal, or pass as normal at one time. With a family and kids and a wife, then something happened and I changed. Now I prefer machines.

I’m in trouble, I can feel it welling up inside, the awareness, the walls of humanity are pressing. The smells the textures.

God help me…,

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2012, written entirely on my iPhone.

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2 Responses to Riding the subway

  1. rlherb says:

    Why? No one liked this piece. It passed into my blog completely unremarkable. What spoke to you? I liked this piece. I wrote it in DC while riding the metro with all the politicos whom my taxes went to fund. At rush hour, wishing I had a more glam job.

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