Retrograde

It is inherent in us, buried somewhere deep in our genetic code. Every person, no matter their supposed and projected disposition has a need to show themselves as significantly more than what they actually compose. It is also of utmost impertinence that one should talk about oneself as much as possible - and on the occasion where any conversation turns away from this holy topic, to become disinterested and do anything possible to bring it back to its higher beginnings.

When today began it was the beginning of the end of a very long period of time. Fortunately, time doesn't really exist, and therefore any length of it I specify can be considered a great one. In this particular case, the exaggeration is minimal, and it is safe to say that most others experiencing the snails pace of hours and minutes I had would whole heartedly agree. It had been a lengthy week for several reasons, every single one of which is in no way interesting, similar to the countless stories you think your friends listen to, but rarely do or realize that some do not speak simply to project their desired image. As the week of untraversable size finally reached some variation of fastigium, it began to depress me that the flurry of life was subsiding. Worry me, in fact, as the dizzying pace recently adopted allowed for temporary respite from the social contracts and pressures and pitfalls I was so thankful to be exempt from. So, as responsibility briefly slumbers, and expectations arise to participate in a futile game that I have found difficult to remain a spectator to, I hide. Those that I need closest seem to have faded into phone calls and IOU's, and those I need not become enclosing walls threatening suffocation before freedom, before it all just begins anew.

Deconstruction

Can you wake without regret? I sleep without fear and wake without knowing what the following day will bring, despite my trespasses into lands of prediction, parched by the burning sunlight of foreboding and anticipation for an oasis for mind and body. Walk across a deserted city, with sky scrapers of superfluous design and bootless stretching towards a heaven of no consequence and an afterlife without what life requires. Observe the places where people once collected each other, in memories and photos and evidence to themselves and others that they have what they want and want at all. And once the mental taxes have been taken and the photos have burned, we have lost all that we built, from sky scrappers to sanity, and never once did any one realize that to collect is futility, and to always be searching is the solution to an empty city.

Do you know how fortunate your touched life is? Touched by god or happenstance or good graces, and inevitably touched by the magnitude of the people bumping into you. Walk at a pace slower than life and see the joyous looks in the eyes of those that meet yours. The glimmer of hope and desire and need that the higher contact made will carry on into a more cradled and handled existence. Envelop yourself in the impossible ties among all you hold and know. Walk, I say, slower than this pestilent race to the end of contests for each other - the love of life is victory without need. Slow your maddening pace and watch, for what is seen is not all to be seen, and what is known is not.

This is not advice, it is what is. Deidcated to all reading it.