Live From Las Vegas
My alarm clock pierces through the crack in my dream and lets the dim light of day pour in, and almost instantly I'm immersed in it. I find my limbs and leave my bed and quickly forget the small world of freedom I live in during the dark hours of night. Slowly moving by body out of arbitrary towards and into the bathroom I find myself confronted with my reflection.
A pale and gaunt face stares back at me with what seems to be contempt in his eyes. This is me. This is me with my glutinous nose, snake lipped mouth and dark pitted eyes where all love fell out of me a thousand tears ago. Every misshapen feature, every line and every blemish is there as a marker on my face. Each one only occurred after my life distorted me into this figure. Now my face acts as a constant reminder to me of a villainous life I'd rather forget.
The face never breaks it's damning gaze. I stare deep back at him for fear of backing down and I think 'is this me?'. How could it be? What I was looking at was just light being reflected off the glass. How could this be me? How could this trick of the light, this optical illusion be me? I feel don't I, or at least I think I do. I have thoughts and opinions inside me that no one could ever know or understand. This bloated blob of self deprecating flesh I carry around can't just be me. I dream don't I?
But then I realise I can't remember what I dreamt, nor any dreams before that. I get dressed. I go to work. Whats my business? - POLITICS.14:00 - 15:00