Pushing the Borderline- Chapter 1

The sun streamed in as he pulled up the shades. A tram jangled past on the worn tracks that had laid there for decades. He was feeling just as old and tattered despite his only 38 years. Over the bed hung a crucifix and the grease- stained wallpaper was donned with curses. Nobody was trying to break anybody down except maybe life itself.
It must have been way over noon judging by the position of the sun. There was a look in his eyes which hadn’t been there before, like black holes in the sky. He turned the radio on and out came the familiar sounds og an old melody- “Shine on you crazy diamond”- made him feel a little nostalgic. They had been following him since he was about 9 .
He stopped staring at the sun, opened the window and was met by the cacophonic sounds of the city.
He took a shower, shaved and brushed the plaque off his teeth. He didn’t want anything- he wasn’t going to sell his soul for complete control. That he didn’t need. He was cool. He could lose his selfless mind and see that there was nothing to hide.

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Deadweight is what he had- it gave him an eerie sense of equilibrium as long as the telephone didn’t disturb him too much. He was tired-thoughts spinning around for hours on end. He was a slave to his senses, although he seldom expressed neither glee nor sorrow. One seldom heard him laugh. He was cool.
Flying over the meadows, hills and valleys, mountains, with wisdom in chalk caves. Juniper berries on the hillside in a dark part of the forest bed.
Take me away from all this and I am nothing, he thought. He was staring straight into the shining sun- taking a heavenly ride in silence, killing the past, coming back to life.
He strolled down the stairs and out onto the street, put his sunhat on with Humphrey Bogart precision and walked towards the harbour.
His hawkeye caught sight of a timeless, placeless gull, diving to feed from the sea. His eyes travelled around the panoramic scenery laid before him. This is my story, he thought.
It was as though his body had a mind of it’s own, itching to go on.
The heat was stifling. Although it didn’t seem to bother him. He was cool.
He was punctuating his thoughts, taking notes on his invisible notepad.
Out the dusty track. There- dust on his shoes. He remembered a time when this unhappy girl would polish his shoes for him every morning before work and school. He tried to comfort her when she was sad but it was near impossible- as though she wanted to be sad. She went wild like a flower and was blown away with the wind, taking her sadness with her.
He walked on, out of the city, along the coast. Here and there houses stood in the sand, very susceptible to storms and high tide- this was certainly a challenge between man and nature- a beautiful contradiction, somehow a parallelisme of life, a community of thought and a rivalry of aims. All this would be behind him in some hours. Another shore, another dusty track. He would not see another sunrise in this place but it would be imbedded in his memory, the time spent here. He never stayed in one place for long. Why should he? He had no strings attached. He was a wanderer , a meanderer.
He decided to take a dip in the foaming waves. He walked through the burning sand and threw his clothes scantily on the sand, dived into the cooling waves and swam towards the horizon.. The waves broke in a roaring, ear-deafening plunge towards the shore, where they hit the sand like thunder. Even if he wanted to he couldn’t chase the sun and horizon, so he turned back and swam towards the shoreline again. The vacuum between himself and the surroundings was deletable, as he felt a strange unison with the dust and the seashore. He took the words he found explicable and necessary to construct his thoughts for his invisible notepad. For most, when posed a question about their life, language became liquid.
He stretched out his arms as if to embrace the scenery. The dip had done him good- he felt refreshed and ready to continue his journey.