Solipsism. Egoism. Realism. Catholicism.
Orange Sunday nights smoking indoors, the smell of the tobacco darkening our senses and allowing us to forget the smell that will stick to our body and hair for the next couple of days. Our expensive clothing that now reeks of cigarettes and alcohol, our skinny bodies in baggy teeshirts thrown into movements trying to hit the rhythm of the darker beats that overwhelm our senses. Broken books on the floor. Ripped pages on the counter. Written words on the walls. Stories told of illegal mishaps and undercurrent ideas, laughter rising, questions raised- confusion settled. Mind preoccupied with the guilt that consumes my heart for the neglection of that special hour we are all called to attend. Not now. Sundays are for community packs and idling ideologies. Press on. It’s comfortable in an uncomforting sort of standard.
Choose. Cinch. Clinch.