staying.cool

..that everytime i open this page, i end up introspecting.

and you can see what happens.

the question remains. why ?

i love understatement.

1. i fucked up.
2. big time.
3. people too important, too close are hurt.
4. i can never make it OK. For me. Or them.
5. i’ve become someone i thought i could never be. the paradigm has changed.
6. i hate myself too.

oh, and life sucks too. if everything else wasn’t enough.

note: …and not even ‘the alchemist’ is helping. nothing can.
note: argh.
fuck it.

of guilt.
of taking responsibility.
of what might have been.
of whether more could have been done.
of whether more was even possible.

of whether i can ever live with what i have become.

“highly unstable. liable to explode.”

i lean back against my seat, and look out the window.

My airbus 330 is seemingly empty. the crew begin to go through the instructions i’ve seen since i was 3 months old. unwilling attention will have to be paid.

The plane seems to take off slowly, though the screen in front of me tells a very different story. the roads of london fade away to be replaced by ribbons of yellow light. at 2000 feet one can see the cars below zoom along the motorway and the hazy street lights casting a glow on the road; making it seem hallowed.

at 4500 feet, the plane banks to leave the country, and for mere moments we are tipped to tilt. the roads are now a continuous stretch of orange. cars are specks of black and the city extends away into the distance - a mesh of orange. houses and buildings are literally lighted dolls’ houses. even at this height, the sheer size of london hits you. as altitude is gained, the dots below seem to move almost too fast; it seems physically impossible.

at 6000 feet, the UK is a mesh of sparkly light, and one realises the insignificance of one of the largest cities in the world; in contrast to the wonder of moments earlier. the plane keeps rising, and clouds begin to obscure the world. a flash of clear sky and the world below can be seen as a litter of orange specks with roads, houses, districts all interweaving into one.

We are nearing the ends of UK territory now and a stark picture of the “tiny” island which was bewildering a year ago is left in my mind. it is now an orange network and not much else. connecting highways are ribbons, and towns, splodges.

It seems one needs only perspective to realise where we really stand. The plane begins its journey outward over the north sea; and over brussels.