pathways from voyager by slinky
white oaks mall is a relatively smaller shopping mall in the western portion of westminster neighborhood of london, ontario. a place i found myself nullified to the piercing gaze of passerby, when i was accompanied by the one i called my lover, a place i can only dream of going back to within his palm, and that i always find within my dreams. despite only going there for some dinner foodstuffs, a funny bath gel we shared in the shower a few times, and to try taco bell for my first time, it will be a place i will remember always as somewhere i felt truly safe all out in the open, yet within the embrace of another.
the toronto path system is an underground metroconcourse network of offices, facilities, services, shops, food courts, and connects to transit networks, hotels, and tourist attractions thats spans over 30km in walking space. a place that is nearly empty at all times on weekends, and has trickling people in past noon on the weekdays. a place that looks like it should be deemed abandoned, but is very much moving and alive, just in a different time and space. a place that i consistently find myself wandering after i take out all of my energy at work, and need to explore somewhere, and within myself. my second home with just how much time i spend there, how much id love to stay there forever, and just how much it reminds me of that place i will never be able to return to again.
Tracklist
| 8. | pathways | 8:33 |
Lyrics
(intro)
i dream of a plateaux.
of ascensions in ridged concrete,
and reminders to stay in our own lane.
a damp external to the vast, warm expanse of exploration.
two sets of doors, awaiting simple pressure,
to be fully rectified as a monument in your mind, or at least mine.
fully surrounded by the chilling unknown,
yet encompassed in your warmth; despite just two feeble palms.
fickle gazes dont torment me now,
now that youre here.
an abandoned sanctuary to stabilize this rampant lion.
yet just an illusion before i knew it.
(commune poems)
[1]
fighting off a fuzzy reflection of myself, as drowning deeper becomes more prominent. stuck between whether i should enjoy the feeling, or try my best to survive within this moment. deciphering my own words, or at least trying to decrypt, and ultimately morphing them into hieroglyphs. passing incomprehensible notes back and forth with eachother, until one or the other gets fed up. typically the opposing. unable to find the words within myself, and to keep from feeding off of others i cant help but say i "love", despite it only coming from a place of shattered glass and rubble. if only inhaling stubble and damp, yet dusty air, refilled me like it once did. even though these feelings are genuine, theres an inability to feel like they are stemming from someone else. likely the little boy that thought everyone was warm, and filled with the same love i never failed to deliver freely, like an invitation never RSVP, let alone opened. now forever a lone drifter, taking invitations to lands forlorn. pathway to pathway, will continue to lead me astray.
[2]
the barren Dominion greets me again, as i search for one of its elevated counterparts to ascend me above the concrete, simply to be reintroduced to it once more. the unforgiving cries and hopes of the shining rays before me, bringing me farther and farther from the elevators. i am - once again - unable to rise, despite the fact that i only have the capacity to descend. descend deeper into the fields and farmlands of deep blue agony, as i am fully aware that when the time comes that i descend for a final time, i will simply permeate through the cement, and back to the marbled floors of the Dominion. my efforts will once again, be rendered fully useless. be *rendered* down to a fully liquid, mellifluous state. one that is unable to move, speak; communicate for that matter. one that is simply just a begrudging stain on Dominion floors. a complete, utter mess. and as i keep trying to solidify; keep trying to cool down this puddle of rendered fat and bone, i truly know deep down, that i do not wish to move any more. that i am fine where i am as an unidentifiable mass of homunculi. i know that it is truly just in everyones best interest, for me to stay down.
[3]
as i seem to pass through the walls, beneath the neptunian monoliths. and the living; the commune, seem to pass through me as well, i continue to stare forward. remain adamant that that is the only place i must go now. as the concept of "home" slowly slips out of reach; slips away from being an idea, i simply continue on, with no place now to rest and express freely exactly how i am feeling in the moment. nowhere to look but simply, beyond. imagining nothing less than numbness when trying to form a thought. seeing a future troublesome, so i dont. i realize that the only thing that is left for me to do; the only thing that is required of me now, is to just simply, be. of which i have been being for an extensive time now, time that i truly seem to have lost track of. as this future seems to lack any solid permanence, i fear that so shall i.
[4]
the tri-tone chime signifies my relapse of materialism, and desire for fake love, as i make my way back to the insects nest i have no choice but to call home, as the barely legible conductor, introduces itself to the passengers over the P.A., another bump - this one bigger than the one changing the tracks - signifies the delay we will be experiencing between Dupont and Spadina stations. signifies the loss of a brother, of a student, an aspiring learner, a relentless dreamer; a son. however give or take the few minutes it takes for it to clear, it is ultimately thought of nothing more than a couple minutes late into work, or a slight confusion of two dates, maybe even a gripe to not get home in time for dinner; no less, a waste of peoples time. as the delay makes its way out the other ear of the passengers, its dreams and prayers for love, shall be now eternally forlorn and lost within the endless cosmos, where no one cared to listen to, reciprocate, or even tread. as his face - maybe not even that - displays itself on the news TV screen for about a weeks time, he will once again, travel through the ears of the passengers, yet this time with the context of pity, for a significantly less time than his report stays up on the screens. he will be remembered in synonyms with fear, and cowardice, as that is truly all he was known for, aside from simply a waste of time. he drifts away, slowly, praying to be left within the minds of the passengers. but he isnt. and he becomes nothing less of an amalgamation of grief.
