Friday, friday – inconsequential to the divergent.
So we all soon approach the Lion’s gate…
Whether to hope or dread our transformation waiting – well, it’d be nice to draw a war in the snow past this midsummer portal. Shuffling river, frizzled leaves floating along – frostbite with enough waiting.
When was the last time you asked for help? You’d be surprised how many are waiting for your call.
When was the last time you ask for too much help? You’d be surprised how many will avert your gaze.
When was the last time you needed help? Sometimes we receive help in ways we’re mostly unaware, the same as infrastructure for this stilted existence.
Such an example would be this undisclosed opportunity: virtual messages-in-a-bottle. Maybe I’ll roll up a painting next.
Whether you want to splash ink over the downtown billboards or draw some smiles in stones for the graveyard ahead – maybe the spirits then shall animate each blackened lip, whisper for a chance: “don’t worry too much, you’re doing fine”.
Dragging fingers along the fenced in curves. Walking down to any tavern left open.
My condition has worsened. As to what condition that is, it’s already disclosed through the essence of this place, but I’m not sure how many more words are left. I think that’s why I like to count the words on the main page. Because I wonder which number it’ll settle on.
Whenever I browse a forum and think to write something, even if I post it I immediately delete it afterward.
Because it just seems pointless. There’s a point to this post though: is it possible for actions to not be regrettable? Of course one shall say anything is possible – but it seems experience points otherwise.
That is, most actions which aren’t the most likely to be regrettable either require contracts or isolation. And of course one can stipulate that whatever does happen you’ll regret it either way – and yet here I sit comfortably. Comfortably so, since no one is dying by my direct hand. Nearby.
A popular quote: love is watching someone die. Or that betrayal shows itself so wretched since it only comes from friends. Bundle it all into “is it worth the squeeze?” Well, you wouldn’t be wrong to rebound with a “why not?”
Still, defaulting to not doing anything means you don’t have anything to regret. The only regret left to process is wondering what if you did, in fact, bother – and yet every bother thus far seems to have rarely worked out otherwise. Whenever one reaches their hand outward toward any sort of anything at all, it usually gifts some scars.
Maybe the scars show something of value; much value is borne out of one’s suffering anyway. Suffering in silence seems to procure more pearls than most typical actions one would ever want to take. Though the variety in suffering by another’s hand does give a new lens, lesson – a way to unstuck, though through the dread in immobility is a potent way to move forward, too.
It’s easier to navigate the world understanding there’s not much out there you’re necessarily missing out on. Perhaps you’re fortunate enough to view your current circumstances with some good candor and conclude it’s all swell. For the best!
Maybe it won’t be swell in the future, but maybe one could still be so bold to state: there is no salvation anywhere other than your own makeup in this transient world.
The sages are often depicted as silent. Maybe because everything is between the lines; because every word isn’t much of anything at all. How contradictory though, seeing as – at least I hoped you’d agree – some books certainly change you. Maybe it comes down to a wonder if your own words could change anything. Maybe it comes down to understanding most words are for your own self, not for anything else.
In the game of life there’s certainly far more intelligent actors around. They know what they’re shooting for.
And they all seem to roam the shadows anyway.
Liability is the word of the year, I guess.