What do you believe to be the beginning of a week?
It was first on Sunday, now on Monday, but when you drop out entirely then it’s any day you want it to be. Maybe yield the whole calendar to the old masters of the current domain, maybe decide that we live in eternity so evidently no clock can constrict you otherwise.
Whether Sunday or Monday, maybe the better question is what’s worth preserving? However many weeks left of this year, well, if we’re going to segment up the cycles of seasons to min-cycles for each day, then hopefully all this labelling meant something. I guess the primary meaning is anchoring memory more: the same as any birthday.
I’d rather label the days by how amusing they were. Call one “the bottle-rocket bonanza” and another “melancholic stairwell” – always in a direction to somewhere I suppose. Ironic, seeing as it’s all cycles, even the ground waiting.
When was the last time you talked to someone as an equal? Most relationships remaining seem to have uneven grounds; though to some that’s what makes it interesting. Do you know what it feels like to be talked up to? Everyone knows what it’s like to be talked down to. Being on the pedestal so I wait for the marble to give out.
Luckily when you fall no one looks anyway. Earlier this week I shaved my head again, and you’d think that’d mean something, but so one can carry on the same. I got some chastising from the neighbors, but it just feels like how a puzzle clicks into place: expected dialogue for another chapter of going nowhere. That’ll be the last interaction I have with the neighbors for another two months, probably.
A few months back I dreamed about living in a rundown apartment with people closer to my experiences. That’s how it is when you’re living in suburbia: most of the remaining participants are sure-fired up to live it up as the exhibit it shall be: behold, the Marshall Plan visions manifest. Asphalt radiation to cut through, cars to dodge, all to go into the still-pebble circuit: such it is with every walk to nowhere. I’m looking forward to finding things to listen to so I can go on longer walks. I’m looking forward for more side-eye glances from the neighbors of names I’ll never know.
Do you know why virtue is so important? It’s sustaining a smidgen of capacity to live with yourself. Only through some virtuous surmising so one dodges affliction. Found between tattoos of a promise rarely held – the sagging skin to crumple as it always was: a postcard hiding some snide remarks that had a pretty cover at least.
Instead of waiting until 80 to no longer care, may as well start now. It’s Sunday, after all.