Hello friends. This may be the last post. Probably not. Ha! But I think it’s important to go on journeys, virtual or otherwise.
Though we think the net as one giant mass, there are hidden networks if you want to check. I mean, it’s all catacombs anyway: you wouldn’t ever be sure how you ever found pleasure sifting through bones.
The youth only not have a realm of possibility but also a grace with it too. See, you can flub as much as you want when you’re younger. But I’m getting to the point where my flubs aren’t cute anymore.
By some point you ought to be well put together. This isn’t to say I’m not, but if you start getting lost in the success swirling one can only wonder. Majority of people are on anti-depressants or drinking or smoking or stuffing or binge-watching and the real scary part isn’t these things, but what comes after. What are they to do if they quit? That’s when you learn you have no right to say anything.
It’s all so perfect, how the day I started this page is the same as how continues: with a dull ache. I’m not sure what’ll solve this dull ache, or that I would, and still I’ll progress along here.
How much does one have to know and own for your respect anyway? How well-composed must one maintain through a meet-and-greet? The company I used to work for had these sort of gatherings all the time. It came with a lot of cucumber water; I wonder if the water was filtered.
We’d meander around and talk some snub about New Rights and Inclusions and the indifference was palpable as all of the employees came as vultures; some weren’t even from the same building. My manager got all giddy with some of the meetings, when he was granted the budget: he’d order some vegetarian pizza. Most of the food tasted slightly bland amongst those vulture caterings. The pizza was great. If I knew it was one of the last times I’d eat pizza I would’ve savored it more, maybe. Certain mist weaving through food trucks likely paid to show, well – despite its universal deceit it was refreshing.
If I told you my current circumstances would you sneer at me? This is probably why I share nothing: because sharing any sort of intimacy or immediacy of circumstance comes with a power struggle. I won’t let you judge me, I will not have it. Or I spare you, and even referencing this could open up a snide remark, “as if I’d ever cared” sort of thing. So melodramatic! I know it’s a battle with myself more than anything, these lost strands of pride still remaining. Perhaps it’s more fun to guess, isn’t it? Or to let you imagine me as the degenerately NEET sickler. There is no pride of worth as a sickler of men.
Maybe when I appear tomorrow I’ll have some stories to tell, places yet described, things now learned. Maybe I’d make a catalogue of experience, and you wouldn’t mind reading them. But there’s no salvation in that. Unless if being in someone’s half-presence is enough to alleviate your pain for the day.
See, the best part about working for another person – instead yourself – is how you can be convinced what you’re doing really matters. The days pass effortlessly that way. A chute from school to corporate pods. When you die you won’t need to reflect about it. Sentenced up the chain: convince everyone that you are an Adding Value man. And eventually you begin to believe it with everyone else; the gravity of the Value fortifies itself amongst the virtual meets, mics muted.
Of the fifth story apartment I lived so I had to overlook construction for the next batch of housing. More dwellings for more employees for more profiteering. With late night runs I’d go to the more rundown parts, where families are crammed in a two room set up. But these cramped places always seemed to have some folks sitting outside, either grilling or watching their kids play soccer deep into the evening. Maybe that’s some wealth. I don’t run anymore.
How do you know what you’re doing matters? With your first abyssal meeting – laying on a grey chic-board for floor so ceiling-silhouettes slide across, perhaps but a shadow of a fourth dimensional viewer – you may find yourself slipping in the cracks after. Cracks of the mind. It’s probably a pain to be a best-seller in any astral realm.
I only talked to three people the entire time I lived at that apartment. Some owners and an employee. They had an apartment meet-and-greet; they loved them over there. I stared down from my window, assured that I won’t be here a year from now. So why meet?
But if everything is transient, it seems stupid to not at least try for even a week. I thought I was being really clever, thinking if I just fade behind-the-scenes I won’t have to feel the pain of loss anymore. But no matter how well acquainted so it seems to find a new tendon to rip in your mental lattice: how fragile! To wander our desert, seeking a now apparent delusion: that somehow one could dodge the pain of loss ripping into you.
There are still people to lose, however distant. There are still ideals to crush under the heel. Nature’s spite. A web carefully strewn always has a frail tie hidden. How much longer do we have together? As though another batch of words changes things – maybe that’s a delusion worth holding onto. If you’re ever graced with the words.
Seek glory so to fade and be wiped into the Hollywood pavement as another idol to forget.
Seek money to push away everyone and you’ll find yourself prepared to die when retirement comes.
Seek friends to either find some goodbyes or betrayal inevitably swooping in – it’s childish to think there’s a loyalty to last a lifetime depending on how rusty your diplomacy is.
Seek love to find it wilted and spiteful between a court’s halls, clawing away the mound of memories as reparations.
Seek foreign lands to find yourself with mangled roots; faces to blend as days accrue, more lives imagined but without fruition.
Make a family to find them scattered across the country, maybe internationally – wonder why you’d bother.
Take vacation to unintentionally remind yourself the rest of the days are devoted to a machine that is bleeding.
Take photos to find yourself bitter and panged later, hovering over the trash bin mulling over whether discarding it would mean to sentence yourself to a void.
The only thing left is the humble mastery of things that, at first glance, mean little – but the only thing left is to stop thinking. And when you do the same things a lot, you’re granted such blessings.
My thoughts have granted me little – the good that is granted probably comes from something divine, out beyond these bony knuckles to clench. All one does is grab and grab at the things to drive one insane, drive one to a half-threaded sweater. Thinking grants little. Instead so one shall trust and scrounge together any strength left for the sandstorms ahead, from silent sources.
I know more than anyone else that writing all of this stuff is not good at all. If I had to publish it under a Respectable Name – somehow attached to my fleshly existence – then I’d rather not publish at all.
It’s not because there’s a deficit of delightful in the world. I guess I’ll settle for the figments of idle imagination, drifting in the day. One could call it despondency, but another could call it a quiet revolt: taking up the mantle of what it means to be Truly Free and burdens therein: that you’ll alone answer why you keep going and what you’re even doing. Why you’re even here. When no one else has the answers, so you’ll make your own however muddy they are.
I’ve made my own many times, a thread between website iterations. As for today, I’ll tell you why: I want to see how it ends. May as well see how it all accumulates when the control structures implode, or you discover the new worlds waiting.
“Thou hast made us for thyself O Lord; our heart is restless until it finds rest in thee”
The Lord to seek very well may be found in the Silenced Mind, perhaps. So I chant to not think about anything anymore: let the eyes glaze over and a smile form. Unless you’ll continue to shake your fists.
Well, may as well; may as well be the neurotic.
Cast out from heaven – may as well make your own.
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav’n.