Und die Welt sagt....

Once again, I find myself awake before the sun. 

Aches and pains from somewhere deep inside have rattled me from the peace of slumber,

thrusting me into the pain and turmoil of consciousness.
I feel a profound sadness spreading through me, hi-jacking the last few cells that I'd believed

to be free of the decay. 

I can't fucking believe that I was born. Sometimes when I don't have to go to work I lay in my bed or on the floor wondering why I was born. Why did I have to be born into this life, this plane of existence? Does it have any meaning at all? AmI going crazy trying to find meaning in the clouds? What if I'm not meant to know? What if there really is nothing there at all? My head. Then this sort of achy, burning feeling starts in my lower stomach, crawling up my oesophagus and into the back of my mouth where it tastes like venom. 

I see my youth reflected in photographs and film;

a time that I thought I’d always be able to hold onto.

I had deleted myself into thinking that times would 

never change. 

I believed that I would stay here, almost encased in glass

were time couldn’t hurt me, couldn’t change me in ways

that I feared.

I was wrong. 

10 years have passed. 

A decade. 

25 countries. 

3 continents.

Thousands of drinks.

Thousands of pills and lines of powder.

Hundreds of thousands of cuts.

Innumerable bruises and scars.

Trains, cars, bikes, planes and boats.

The rapid cycling waves of high and low.

3,650 days of watching the sun rise and set.

Dozens and dozens of people.

Millions of stories and conversations flowing around me 

and through me. 

So many things have happened that sometimes it’s hard for

me to believe that it’s real.

Memories crawl around me like sleek silver ghosts,

hiding in the spaces my emptiness.

I fall back into fields of memories; flashes come and go in rapid succession, leaving me longing for a time that was far simpler and more enjoyable. Flashes of reading Fifty Shades of Grey on my flight from Stockholm to Berlin (2012), racing through the German countryside heading from Leipzig to Frankfurt (2013)my headphones blaring Placebo's deep and cathartic rock anthems, standing on the Charles Bridge looking into the dark waters of the Vltava River (2014). The waves crashing against the shore in Malibu (2015), the fresh snow flurries in Stockholm as the sun set over the Batlic Sea (2018). I wonder what else I have locked inside my head. 

Even earlier. Going to the cinema to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002), going to see the Backstreet Boys live in concert (2000), visiting Canada for the first time (2006), racing snowmobiles across frozen fields, tempting the laws of physics and the duration of my body (2006). I sit and think about all that's happened and I almost can't breathe. It feels like I'm an entirely new person. Like I really began to live about 10 years ago. I don't know why I feel this way. I feel like I finally became my own person then I guess. Part of me can't accept all that's happened to me, I suppose. I'm overwhelmed by everything, especially when it all floods back into me. It's several people, all versions of me fighting for the surface.

Sometimes when I sit and think about what it all means. Are we really just born to grow up, waste away our lives slaving away at work to die a painful and lonely death? Well, some of us are murdered, so we're not really alone when we die, but you guys get the picture. Sometimes I wonder if I was even born or am I just the figment of some disturbed guy who likes to ride the central line for hours while London bustles busily above him.