Thursday, 23 April 2009

I’m a Thought-Train Hobo

No matter where I am or what I’m doing, when a train of thought rumbles through my mind I pick up my bottle and jump into the box car.  I ride the train until it stops somewhere, I hop off and I look around.

It’s a compulsion.  I don’t realise what I’m doing until miles of landscape have rushed past and I’m making myself comfortable among the crates.  And hell, when I’m on the train already I might as well see where it’s going.

I’m a transient by nature.  Without a home, but at home anywhere the train pulls up.  Just like a swallow migrates and salmon swim against the river to breed, I ride the thought-trains.

It’s why I have such trouble being in the moment.  I’m always on a train, always moving somewhere.  It’s the only life I’ve ever known.

Like any Romantic lifestyle, though, it takes its toll.  When you never settle anywhere, you become isolated from everywhere.  And you become isolated from everyone because, at the end of the day, it’s only ever going to you in the box car.

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