Abreast of the times

I have not yet made up my mind..
...how close I should go
listening to manifold voices, opinions, roars and whipsers, my own echo
...how far I should go
unchaining the presence I am not able to get hold of
...how fast I should go
keeping abreast of the Zeitgeist, my peer`s age, a free floating globe

Once an avid reader, a nervous writer, an awkward girl on two fast-paced legs
I have become a secret to myself that does not reaveal anything except traces
of manifold defence mechanisms moving around my limbic system like a hungry
constrictor snake.
I want to play those drums at sunset and suffer and hypnothesize myself through to the morning light.

Why do I stop myself  the more the less goals I have?
What am I so afraid of losing? What else can it be than the discovery that the will to survive will make me adapt until I create new illusions?
Maybe the window of illusions seems to get spots on its once clean glass now that I approach step by step a new phase where not career - a big black question mark - but this stale term "happiness" knocks at my door.
My dreams have been creating an own land for several weeks now: dunes, pine woods, endless streets, cafes at  the corner, the sound of mopeds, the misguided feeling of holiday, a bus station to an incredibly huge university with ten floors and gigantic electric staircases to which I have to walk without a single clue if it takes me or not. The weather condition is always vague, what seems to start off as a nice sunny day might turn into a dense grey cloud connecting with an angry sea. It is a land maybe in the South of Europe, a land where parallel worlds coexist.
My past clashes with my future which leads me to a chaotic stroll through present times never knowing what it is all meant to be.


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