here i am, earning a steady salary, contributing to my city making a difference, upgrading government schools, developing river fronts, giving cyclists and pedestrians their rightful share of the road . . . loads of good shit. working hard, more or less regularly, and almost meticulously . . .
. . . i still manage to travel quite a bit, and the trek to zanskar was unparalleled . . .
why then do i feel the impending doom and pointlessness at every instance
why do i have to run away
why am i stuck in a inertial gel
they say you climb the mountain to see whats on the other side, strangely there seems to be none
disillusion is a part of life i have learned to believe
but drive is integral to the machine'
its strange to be headed nowhere
at no particular pace
not that i'm not used to it . . . but things change when the metophorical climb seems to be going downhill and the elation of the ascent got missed somewhere along the line . . .
. . . i want my own tree,
see it grow and fruit
wither and blossom
permanence . . . eternity . . .
lets hope there's some more climbing up ahead . . .
