It hurts me to say this, but I think that, while I am still the size and shape of a fully-grown zeppelin, I can no longer claim ownership to the Zeppelin. Just like any concert hall that has seen better days, I guess you could say that the Tiger finally woke up, and the place just had to go.
So. Metropolis of smog. It's all about the state of mind, baby, and recently, I feel as if I've been living in a constant state of muddled thinking. I was never the sharpest tool in the shed, but there's something been clouding my mind in a constant state of unthinking.
I figured it was because I stopped writing like a madman. I am no longer, as Revolverroach says, a spongiform life form with the ability to spout words that teeter on genius and insanity; instead, I am just a spongiform life form getting along with the everyday banality of life.
At one point, it bothered me. I have, as the human iteration of Spongebob, the peckish pride of Squidward (and the occasional stupidity of Patrick Star, but it was mostly Squidward); as such, I couldn't help but think that something was amiss, that I couldn't keep on living in this state of ensmogglement because the more I idled my engine here, the more I stagnated since, you know, an engine that is kept on idle for too long will sooner or later fall apart from misuse.
It's possible that that was what happened to the Zeppelin. It happened to the Blue Dream, my bass of almost countless years. I had ignored it for far too long, that the potentiometers (oh will you look at the sexy, technical cadence of that word) rusted to the point wherein one of the knobs wouldn't turn because the rust had eroded all of its internal treads. It was, for all intents and purposes, a spinning component with no potential use, and had to be replaced.
I shrugged, and said that I'd been there, done that, bought the shirt. Everybody's felt like a loose knob at one point in their lives. Sometimes, you just have to yuk it up, and move on, making the most out of what you have.
And I guess I did. I'm not exactly in the best place right now, but I guess you could say that I'm more or less happy. In comparison to my previous posts at around this time of the year, anyway. I was more morose the previous years, and despite how bad some aspects of my life seem to be, how shrouded in smog my mind seems to have become - there, beneath the underlying fog of the metro is a bustling society, filled with the hopes and dreams and lives of millions of beings.
We're all everyday heroes, underneath the smog, it seems. We're all Peter Parkers. We all have our own superpowers, and while we have to go through the daily trials and tribulations of living in Manila, there's still the brilliant cadence in all the turmoil that, like the word potentiometer, may seem cold and lifeless at times, but when seen from the proper perspective, is just so goddamn sexy, you'll be Faceboxering before you even know it.
And that's when I realized that this state of ensmogglement isn't exactly a pit stop. Neither is it a setback. It only becomes all that when I think of it that way. But if you look at it the right way, and think of how to work things out properly, step by step, you wouldn't crash into a wall, or, god forbid, get run over by a car. It isn't exactly stopping to smell the roses, but if you keep your perspective a few feet away from your face, you might see the next guy coming along, trying to feel his way through the fog. And maybe you'll say hi, and exchange happy, sad, frightening, or uplifting stories and just live your lives out the way they were meant to be lived – between sleeping and waking, learning every step of the way, growing old, and appreciating everything that comes – or came – with it, because it only ever happens once in our lives, and if we blink, we might miss it forever. Like love, pure joy, and pure sadness.
And this is why the weather-beaten tiger wakes up and says goodbye Zeppelin.
Hello, Metropolis of Smog.