Where Is My Soul?

The rain illuminated by the candy colored neon signs buzzing in the bleak rain softened the horizon as I hefted my weary over worked, over worn body across the puddled concrete, cold under feet, soulless – the city I once knew and loved so well, gone to anything but a fading façade – a mask painted over a million times in order to look like the city I once lived in, but now something was amiss, something was lacking – the soul… this city, I swear, once had some soul, perhaps not a bustling never sleeping soul like New York, but it had soul… it had character…. But somewhere, at some point in my delirium and distracted state of post exodus from paradise, it had vanished, the streets and buildings propped up like it had wooden planks behind them like so many old Hollywood movie sets.

My feet pounded the ground, each step weighed and stomped down with the force of 100 previous footsteps, as I had previously in my life, walked on the balls of my feet, with passion bursting from my belly, from my diaphragm, my insides now felt like the empty vessels that surrounded me. I wondered what had happened, it was like waking from a long coma, you suddenly find yourself in seemingly familiar settings, but nothing actually fits – nothing seems like it used to. Was this growing older? Possibly… however this seemed deeper, more sinister, and sadder. I have lived a thousand lives, each one a loving glow in my breast plate… each one a lifetime on its own, its own energy, its own lust, its own anima – now inside there was nothing but wonder and bewilderment. Where were the lives I knew? Where was the new one? Had I run out of lives, like some strange artists form of 9 lives? A hipster walked by wearing horn rimmed glasses, dark black t-shirt with a picture of a Rubik’s cube on it, running shoes with dark jeans shrink wrapped around his pale skinny legs; his jacket was an old German military jacket, his hair balding in spots and long in other like he hadn’t the faintest clue what he wanted to do with it, or cared… oh you modern hipsters, so blatantly self-aware even behind your irreverent façade – another zombie in the land of the walking dead. Pretty girls in heels and short skirts, underneath thick black nylons, ruining the whole get up – it irritates me so, just another thing to have to tear off in hot passionate back alley sexcapades – oh but only if I had the spark, the motivation, the impulse, rather than some flimsy reminder to glory days gone by. I’m not this old, I think to myself, I’m still in my prime – but what is this bleakness? Where did it come from? Where are my desires? Where have they gone?

The sad tragic tale of a life lived to its fullest only to find perhaps I was meant to die young in some fiery car crash and become an immortal art god – that I missed that turn somehow, that something had gone astray – that being kicked out of paradise isn’t so great after all – one boredom just preceded a more dismal boredom.

Where were all the mad poets? The souls burning with raw emotional and passionate power? When did the lights grow dim? And was I in purgatory? Or is this just the tragic decay of society rotting from the inside? I am the world; watch my skin start to peel.

6 thoughts on “Where Is My Soul?

  1. I like this, I wish more guys in the ‘sphere would step away from the normal write-ups were all used to seeing and express their points in a more literary way.

    Some quick critiques, try not to repeat the same word over and over in one sentence. You used “rain” twice in the opening sentence and foot three times in the first sentence of the second paragraph. It makes the line feel “chunky” for lack of a better term.

    Also use commas to pause the flow, emphasize words and phrases with appositives.

    Compare your opening line to this:

    “The rain, illuminated by the candy colored neon signs, buzzing in the bleak downpour, softened the horizon as I hefted my weary over worked, over worn body across the puddled concrete”

  2. Yes, I alway should spend more time editing, maybe some day, but thanks for the comments, much appreciated. Also I’m glad you liked it – I’m gonna start leaning towards more of this style of blog as it fits in with my novel style’s and I feel that blogging is dead, or perhaps, just not effective enough on it’s own, as it’s done traditionally. Either way, it’s time for me to expirement.

  3. I feel the same way. Vancouver is a great place to live, have fun, and game in the summer time. But those long months of rain and darkness (both within and outside) can really drag on and grind you down, killing motivation and that burning fire for adventure. I figured it’s best to use this time to work on yourself…hitting the gym harder, reading more books, learning new hobbies…until the season renews itself and that feeling of excitement and adventure returns in the summer and the pretty girls come back out in full force decked out in mini skirts of all shapes and colours.

  4. I moved out of Richmond 8 years ago, it’s where I grew up. It was a great place to be a kid in the 70s and 80s. I’m out in the valley now and even though it still pisses rain every day for 9 months of the year it seems to be so much more like Vancouver was when I was growing up. Metro Vancouver is a soulless hole. Once in a while I hit the tiki bar at the waldof for a hint of old Vancouver.

  5. A similar Vancouver melancholia hit me when I looked through the latest book of Fred Herzog’s outstanding photos. Of a Vancouver come and gone.

    I remember growing up in the verrry tail end of that older, grittier less polished Vancity, in the late 70’s and 80’s. It still lingered until the early 90’s. It’s really too bad…..After Expo it became a world class city with world class problems.

    The Waldorf is pretty cool for that bygone vibe but so is that whole area.

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