Fuck this love-for-love shit, man.
That’s for poets and fools, and maybe those
who ain’t ever tasted the bitter end
of a heart split wide open.
I do it from love, see? Not for it.
Love’s a drunk sailor, promising treasure
and delivering a hurricane.
But you sail anyway, don’t you?
You do it ‘cause the storm’s in your blood,
‘cause the ocean’s your only home.
Even when the waves try to drown you,
you dive deeper.
Sun was a piss-yellow lemon, world a gris soup.
Woke up with a rhythm poundin’ in my skull,
like a drunk piano player tryin’ to tune a chainsaw.
Got out of bed, stiff as a rusty gate,
and started to move. Not dance, more like a desperate plea
to somethin’ out there, maybe a pissed-off gopher.
Universe, you big, indifferent zero, watch this:
I’m a broken record scratchin’ out a tune to nowhere.
I’m flailin’ and stompin’ and singin’ off-key,
a one-man band at a deaf school.
Yeah, I’m a joke, a stain, a cosmic accident,
but I’m still here, still movin’.
So laugh, you cold, empty bastard, laugh.
But watch me dance.
Streetlights flickered, casting long shadows that danced on the worn cafe floor. Smoke curled from Pilgrim’s cigarette, a foreign aroma in the cool evening air. He had no satchel, just a presence that seemed to hold a thousand journeys.
“Japan,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble with a hint of accent. His eyes, deep and dark, held stories whispered in ancient temples and shouted over the roar of bullet trains.
I leaned closer, captivated. The cafe faded away, replaced by vibrant visions. Cherry blossoms unfurled, painting the world a delicate pink. I stood reverent before majestic shrines, the weight of history pressing down. The rush of a bullet train blurred the landscape, a symphony of speed and steel.
His voice spoke of haikus, capturing fleeting moments with a poet’s touch. I tasted rain-washed streets and the quiet hum of a life lived in harmony with nature. Time warped and stretched, the city a distant hum outside our shared world.
When I finally emerged, blinking into the city lights, it felt different. Neon signs held a new mystery, a reflection of the Tokyo moon he’d described. There were no goodbyes, just a lingering smile and a warmth in my chest. The embers of wanderlust fanned into a blaze.
