As I prepare for a visit from two lukewarm friends from a couple years ago I find myself wondering how I ended up this way. This way being… a comical futility. Comical in that I could stir myself out of it, but futile in that I’ve no reason anymore. It’s hard to say, so brace yourself as I pull whatever out of it onto this page. In short, I find myself driven senseless. With how we all force our way into lives of others without realizing how much time it wastes.
In fact, I recently met with someone from a couple and one years ago. We at best were acquaintances, and I guess acquaintances we will forever remain. A spur of moment certainly and maybe the last time I’ll ever see them, most likely. When I received an invitation I was leaning toward dishonesty but the coat hanger stuck around my neck tightened and so I decided it’s best to try. Try it out. Talk and see where it leads — but there’s an almost harmful fondness for romanticizing serendipity and praying to our cold-hearted Godmother of Luck to bless us with a simple meeting, a refreshing afternoon. To where my prayers have ever been answered, it is rarely found in meetings.
Instead our meeting was straining and painfully endless. Grasping at thin air, thin connection, aimless. And this is no fault at all of anyone involved. None at all. No one. My neurosis seeks constantly to make something more of what it is. From our future time tables it’s blatant that this is only a time passer. And although I want to press for a better reason to ever contact me, meet with me, have a lunch with me, maybe I am afraid to admit that there is no good reason. None could ever evolve. I was only a placeholder for an hour and half before we part ways and focus on the next task. But that’s what ruffles me, for I no longer understand the enjoyment. You could liken it to browsing around, but there’s a crucial difference: the low-demand excursion.
At this point I realize there are a class of people that find browsing online and talking in person synonymous and of little effort, and maybe I could even agree. But there’s another crucial difference: the amount of hoops I have to jump through in order to waste this hour and some change with you is too much. See, at the heart of my browsing I know it’s motivation: finding fragments that make me feel human. But at the heart of this meeting, which is jointly defined, the only reason we could both implicitly define would be to waste time. To pass the day. And yet I doubt that was even accomplished. Instead we spent a lot of time making sure we could pass the day proper, and then find it slipped past us as we grab for reasons to still pass the day with one another. And I only feel less human with every question I grab at to continue a strained conversation and sustain a portal between two incongruent worlds that’ll remain as I inhabit a colorless side of asceticism. A court jester that hung his hat yet still laughs!
You turn into the neuromancer when you have difficulty tolerating empty movements of bodies between places with food between mouths and energy sucking between our reservoirs in a game of what in the end? The drive home, whether I was victorious in grabbing some energy or not, feels just as jarring as the drive to. To what do I owe this complete confusion? Why can’t anyone provide an honest reason? Do people just act out of habit, are they certain a meeting will be enjoyable? It bothers me greatly, did they actually enjoy the meeting? Why is it that when I meet with people Melancholy accompanies me in the passenger? A part of me wants to admit a deficiency on my end, but yet even if I had absolutely everything to offer, it would still result the same: that people reach out to you .just because. and even if you had that genie in a bottle nothing would result from the occasion, for the occasion was created without any end in mind! WHAT WAS THE POINT is what I want to shake into someone. It is literally pointless because the meeting was created without reason! It is playing a poker match with your cards up or thrown in the trash; why?
This is why I’m fond of business. It’s laid bare. It has a purpose. We’re here to gather our prizes between each other and let’s strike our deal. Meanwhile in la la friend-land I have to pretend that you care about me (which is unlikely) and I have to play along with white lies (that are stained with vice) and I just don’t see reason anymore. THERE’S NO POINT! In my colorless land the lush is sucked out along with the warmth and that’s because I’m tired of contrast between hot and cold, yo-yo galore.
Maybe my futility is heightened by how I can’t help notice this yo-yo effect that people push away with plushies and oxytocin before clawing at the concrete parking lot walls while waiting for a dealer to inject you out of misery. They’re junkies looking for the next social high, validation from some (ultimate) stranger from a past life. To distract themselves? Look, all you need is a bank account and a teeny-bopper mindset and you’re off to the races. Go ahead and run your river rapids dry without me, you don’t need me for that. Bounce up and down and up and down and seek continuously the summit before you swan dive into the estuary. Dream all you could ever and fulfill all that you may while ignoring the man who hung himself off of the corner of Chandler Lane and 4th Ave. He had everything, might I add! Everything but his mind — how’d he lose that? Well he didn’t spend enough time with it I suppose. The choice of life is egregiously spiteful if you ignore your mind, isn’t it!
So let’s step in tune to our drawing boards, smack them together and summon together our future plans. Do we find some common ground? Glorious, let’s continue on. No? Then why did you ever bother to talk to me? You could entertain finding a common ground, [but the amount of steps it takes to take you to me and me to you is utterly pointless if we’re just feeling in the dark!]{.underline} Shall we just act in benevolence forever? Such benevolence has left me cautious.
I know what it takes to talk to people. And I’ve calmed a lot of voices if I could ever think that to be a point of pride when it’s instead naive. Regardless, I prepare to meet my two lukewarm friends which I’m only meeting due to demands of my Godmother Luck again, for she hints that keeping ties will yield some future generous groves. Although I’ve strong doubts on that, I’ll still yield to my elders.
Let’s be clear. I’m not tired of pretending. We could be immersed and maybe there’s an immortal part of me that’ll forever take the plastic and make it gold. But I’m tired of pretending we aren’t pretending at the forefront, the opening act, and I’m tired of pretending without any clear goal! The social advantage is rarely found among people. Only if I start seeing everyone as a customer does that expand, but what do I got to sell? I’m empty pockets and regulation books for one is quite heavy to carry. I don’t know. I’ll still sell something.
As I dust off my suit and puff my cigar you may call me the devil too, and that’s okay. I remember what it meant when you tried to be gentle. Sometimes I still crave that prior mode, gentleness above all else. The car fumes cloud my memory and the disheveled look of disdain from each driver as I pass by on my meager bicycle keeps me in tune to the larger orchestra, the demolition of the larger hearts to small.
So I tap dance with you and remind you that despite the spotlight that comes with cheers abound amongst the trapdoors lain dormant between meetings, acts and plays — why don’t we still enjoy the wooden display and applause before rest?
I accept that no one needs me anymore beyond wasting time between curtain drops. I just sometimes find myself tired when I thought there was something more to be had, maybe the wish that condensed into a pearl which is lodged between my intestines. If I had to surmise, then I’ll say neuroticism and wishing there was something more between us was the case, but then on further reflection I know all too well there is a deep deficiency on my part. Deep and I just know there’ll be no one to call me for I fulfill no need. And that is entirely my fault, and I can no longer accept the floppy title of a Friend to rectify what I am. Yet I’m still confident that if I had everything, I would still be just as perplexed because it seems all people want is a time-passer and if they want that then please, don’t choose me.
Aimless conversations sicken me. I’m no court jester anymore. Let’s tap dance instead though! Or close out the world until I am of actual use, use that I subscribe by. Because on some accounts I’m sure some would call me useful, but that usefulness left me dry and sullen. And we aren’t even touching upon the point where they have to offer something of value in return! I can’t remember the last time I desperately wanted something from someone. So it confuses; what did you want from me, and if you only wanted to waste an hour and some change, did you really need me to do that?
So as we still somehow share the same night sky, which is a comforting thought if you do think about it; the fact these words were procured under the same starlight, that is a fine thought, a simple thread among the simple-threaded connections between all souls — as we do share this view, do understand that, after I wrote all of this, I thought to trash it right after. And because it’s pointless to even share! Although I was explaining a position, that position is still useless, and I see in clarity what I would ever have to do to change the scenery. Maybe I’m not too compelled. In either case, it feels as though you could compress all of this into one sentence: I am an isolated stirring force, and that I’ll remain, and I’ll sweep up the leaves upon my doorstep with the same vigor whether you call my name or leave me, both but in vain!