Slipping along the slide towards the big splash at the end, how many twists and turns can I take? Will I be ejected from the tube and skim along the place where most others sink like stones?
In order to persist, do we need to kill the thing that would have us persist in the first place?
I am not a genius, but I want to live forever. Why do we live in such an uncertain world? Could we just be shadows of people, things, entities pulling puppets on the walls? A higher order puppet. A higher order shadow.
Cast.
The tree twirls to the right, and I have not seen it's end. The last branch will not reveal itself, there is always another dividing, dividing, dividing.
Should I search for the end of the road? Should there be, perhaps, a place where people can congregate and chat over the circumstances that have brought them all there?
A place away from the storm that is reality, churning outside, warm inside here, where matter is not static, it flows. You are a flow.
The great link.
How many ways will we try to embody our ecistence?
How is it a single book could send me reeling? Obviously I set up the dominoes and the book just flicked the first one.
I did, but so did my parents, steeping me in a Christian upbringing. I should talk to Stu a little bit also. He dropped away. He also dropped away from other things, I wonder if he regrets it, or if his sadness comes from how deeply fucked up the world is, twisting away from the center as it is. Becoming other.
The shadows grow long, here, by the light of 60hz still a flicker, but far faster than the candles and gas lamps of those that came before.
And in the future, how will it be to be plugged in? Am I destined to only experience this moment? Or am I already a future me, experiencing a past snippet of reality? Taking a spin in an avatar?
Trying it on for size?
What is the purpose?
Why do we need purpose? We need purpose now, but before now all we needed was food, and sleep, and fucking. Procreation. Changing ourselves slowly over generations. So slowly. Still not fast enough now to keep up with our creations.
They will extend our initial idea forward, but the seed of that idea, us, will never be as understood as the us living it now. Gone like piss in the ocean, just part of a collective whole.
Christianity kept me back from a lot of things, but it made me better yet at other things. I am a peacekeeper, a negotiator.
I want to scream at the universe, but it would be as cold and uncaring as if I had not done so at all.
Can you ask an ant to care about the dirt on which it treads?
We are dust, wrent from the galactic makeup of molecules, from the stars, from the solar wind, congregating and compiling, piling up to towers, talking to other towers. Our ideas reach the infinite, but who has seen the end of it? We cannot conceive of it. I took a video of myself today. Something to keep me existing in the future, but not nearly as much as some other imprint. I am an enigma, but I have written much.
I write and part of me bleeds onto the page, a different thing than DNA. My experience blended with my DNA. Me, really.
The me that I reveal, to be taken with a grain of salt, maybe.
My kids, I watched them play in the park today, and it was the closest I've been to heaven in a while. How strange it is to watch them play, to play with them, to sit in that flow of paradise and exist.
They are beautiful creatures. They are exploring and joyful and wonderful and I love them more than I could ever articulate with words, and it's in words that I swim. I swim in words, it is part of my lifecycle.
One day I will not open my eyes, and I would have been sad were it not for my eyes not having opened on that day. There will be some, maybe, that will be sad in my stead. But I am not there any longer. Whatever husk of a body you, they, see before them. It is not me. I will have passed into another place, maybe, but certainly will no longer be able to whisper my wisdom to you who remain.
My life, probably shy of 100 years, hopefully not shy of 80, will have come to term.
A full term.
I used to think I would live forever. It was what I was taught. No allegory, not symbolism, forever in a real sense. I used to think it would be boring as fuck.
I wish now for that boredom. The boredom of existence unending. The slow progression of forgetting, maybe.
How could I ever forget her face. Their laughs. The tears I shed into my pillow at the last look I ever got from my first real heartache crush.