Night of the Living Dead

I went for a walk the other night, just to get some fresh air and clear my mind (and quite possibly to pop to the off license to get a bottle of wine). I dunno if any of you remember it, it was that night when the moon looked so unreal, they actually put a picture into the Daily Echo the next day. It was a rare sight, caused by ice crystals in the atmosphere, and I wish I had been able to fully absorb it, but my mind, my sensual abilities felt like torn cotton wool. I don't know how much beauty I have missed out on because I felt like a stuffy nose trying to smell a perfume. I hate it when my mind is in a blur, full of thoughts and yet unreadable. I feel like a mental bin, with all the notes floating around crumpled and shredded.
Outside, I try to take in my surroundings consciously, with an effort, to find myself as part of it, somehow connect to it. But I can't help seeing the elements of my environment as separate entities. A house. Blinking decorations. A street. Street lamps. A passing car. I look up. The night sky. My senses are blunted. My life seems to consist of short sentences. Chopped up, dissected. It feels of nothing. Indifferent. And I float in between all of this, like in a smoky bubble that cuts me off from it all.
I concentrate hard, trying to knit all those impressions together to create a sensual symphony, and for a tiny moment it almost works.
The clouds above me look like a pristine, magical upside-down snow landscape, and the moon glows through it like a heart of ice, surrounded by a rainbow-coloured haze, reaching thin cold rays through the black gnarled branches of the silhouette of a winter-bare tree.
It's just the tiniest lick of a taste of what it's like to be alive, and it's just there long enough to remind me that I have no part in it.

I hope to god those pills will start working soon.


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