"Lately I've been so alone, wired out
but I'm not stoned.
I just need the music playing, the music
playing on."
--Urge Overkill, Digital Black Epilogue.
Years and years have passed. Since then, I knew that it was going nowhere fast, steadily shifting my direction homeward. Even though I knew for sure there was nowhere I could actually call home, per se. How long have I been wandering around, I could not say.
One day, many years ago, I've realized I was actually a prisoner of my ways, of my lack of objective. I'd wasted many endless nights trying to figure a way out. It took me about forty years to realize that I could not escape it. I could not get away from...myself.
So I hit the road. Packed a few things and took off. No good-byes were needed. No citations to quote. I've told no one about it, I had nothing to worry about. Nothing to leave behind. No strings attached.
That was about ten years ago. And I'm yet to see what I came to see out here.
What is it? I don't know.
I actually thought I knew. I'd come across this thing and I would say, "That's it!" However, I'm yet to see such a thing. At least I've stopped trying to figure out what it would be, a person, a job, a place, whatever.
I just don't know. At all. But I no longer care. It can't be helped. Not that way.
All I know is that I'm on a search of this thing, this whatever. The thing that would turn my life around. But a man can pretend as hard as he'd like, he can deceive everyone else, but he knows he can't lie to himself. He can pretend not to know.
But I always knew. Even though I tried to mask it, to bury it, to hide it away or something, I knew it.
I'd have to see it for myself.
So I'm on this road. Where does it lead, I cannot say for sure.
All I know is that I need to keep going. I can't get away from it. Can't swerve out of it. And as the day fades, I know that this is what I need to do.
I used to get mad at it sometimes. I've always felt lost, and I'd get so frustrated I'd become this big, sad old asshole which no one would tolerate. People would get sick of me, and I'd become mad at them for their blindness, so to speak.
All that rage, that angst, would lead me nowhere. So I took off. It was for the best, in the end. In the long run, it made some sense.
I just know that I'm yet to see it.
but I'm not stoned.
I just need the music playing, the music
playing on."
--Urge Overkill, Digital Black Epilogue.
Years and years have passed. Since then, I knew that it was going nowhere fast, steadily shifting my direction homeward. Even though I knew for sure there was nowhere I could actually call home, per se. How long have I been wandering around, I could not say.
One day, many years ago, I've realized I was actually a prisoner of my ways, of my lack of objective. I'd wasted many endless nights trying to figure a way out. It took me about forty years to realize that I could not escape it. I could not get away from...myself.
So I hit the road. Packed a few things and took off. No good-byes were needed. No citations to quote. I've told no one about it, I had nothing to worry about. Nothing to leave behind. No strings attached.
That was about ten years ago. And I'm yet to see what I came to see out here.
What is it? I don't know.
I actually thought I knew. I'd come across this thing and I would say, "That's it!" However, I'm yet to see such a thing. At least I've stopped trying to figure out what it would be, a person, a job, a place, whatever.
I just don't know. At all. But I no longer care. It can't be helped. Not that way.
All I know is that I'm on a search of this thing, this whatever. The thing that would turn my life around. But a man can pretend as hard as he'd like, he can deceive everyone else, but he knows he can't lie to himself. He can pretend not to know.
But I always knew. Even though I tried to mask it, to bury it, to hide it away or something, I knew it.
I'd have to see it for myself.
So I'm on this road. Where does it lead, I cannot say for sure.
All I know is that I need to keep going. I can't get away from it. Can't swerve out of it. And as the day fades, I know that this is what I need to do.
I used to get mad at it sometimes. I've always felt lost, and I'd get so frustrated I'd become this big, sad old asshole which no one would tolerate. People would get sick of me, and I'd become mad at them for their blindness, so to speak.
All that rage, that angst, would lead me nowhere. So I took off. It was for the best, in the end. In the long run, it made some sense.
I just know that I'm yet to see it.
What is it? Dunno.
All I know is that this is what I must do.
I need to keep going.
