Chronosynclastic Infundibulum

As I sit here, on the carpetted floor of Brownsville Airport in Texas, close to the border with mexico, I cant help but wonder at how the past 2 weeks have been. But before that, I find myself begging to tell you what I am doing here in the first place.
The story is very simple. Once upon a time, 250 years ago a butterfly emerged out of a pupa in the jungles of congo. It should have beat its wings exactly 5 times before it dried itself and fly away, but it beat them 6 times… That started a cascade of events some of which may have been the birth of hitler (The wrong sperm got lucky), one of the close enounters of Charles De Gaulle (he short guy shouldnt have been there for Gaulle to bend, and hence the sniper to miss his shot), Edmund Hillary’s conquest of Mt.Everest (if it wasnt for the extra flap of wings, the winds would have been a tad more strong.. just enough for the dude to lose his balance and plummet down to certain death just as he was inches away from the summit). Lets call this ‘the Butterfly Effect’…. one of the effects happens to be the thunder storm that is currently having its vice like grip on the Houston International Airport, thanks to which I find myself stranded in the brownsville airport for over 5 hours now! Damn the Butterfly!!!

Now that I have sacrilegiously butchered Chaos Theory, lets go back to what this blog post is supposed to be about.

It wouldnt be exaggeration, though inaccurate, to say that I havent been home (my apartment), for over two weeks now, it has been over two weeks of vacation. It was supposed to be a well deserved break, but I find myself saying “What have I done to deserve this?”. A break by definition is supposed to last for a short period of time… then again, short by definition is subjective. So, for me, right here, right now is the limit, the boundary of what I consider a short period of time. As the ‘break’ beings to last longer, it demands reclassification, as it ceases to be a break any more. To me that reclassification is Bohemia. A break from routine is becoming a break from reality. I realized that it is not a very smart idea to spend over a week in an island that has nothing to offer but the company of other people. That’s pretty much what South Padre Island is. There is nothing beautiful inherent on this island. People go here because everyone else goes there. If you were to take all human inhabitation of the island for a brief moment in time and freeze it, the vulgarity of the place would be stark and apparent. One would detest the place of what it has become. I guess vegas has streched the limits of how we much we can endure and how carnal and beastly man’s vulgarity can be. I have, but seen a glimpse of what it is. I but tasted the pleasure, swallowed a mouthful and spit out the rest of it.

And I sit here, longing to go back home, longing to go back to life, back to routine, back to a place from where I know I can move ahead. I sit here, at brownsville airport awaiting my elusive flight to take me back to where I came from. I sit here, half way between the gutter and the stars.