Room 140

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Room 140 is the room I stayed in a crises care facility. While I stayed I told myself something will come out of this. Then again not. This was such an experience it was part of dismal expectation. I watched the other patients other side of the window. They were miles away. They had a particular music to them. And I am gasping for air. People are walking around the building. No reason. Then I will be glued to the TV. I do not understand the plot. Some are old movies, some are sitcoms. Some are crime show. Then my mind tells me orders. I must move on to the next hall. The staff moves around too. And I realize I have no notion of the time. In fact I have no idea where the building is located. I tell myself I should not drink lemonade. No lemonade, no lemonade, no lemonade…and I get a cup and drink some lemonade. While English writers (include poets) strive to write more. Philosophers like to strive to end writings. Both are continually incomplete. In a sense wabisabi (the art of imperfection) applies. A person living is complete as where he stands. American travelers are taking strives. So is the mentally ill.