pandering

so each day is sliced into little chunks of hours that we must concede into and slave ourselves away to things uncertain. it is a work that never reveals itself until you choose to unearth it yourself, have you a will and a heart to venture and a mind that questions. mouthes that never stop speaking noses that never stop running heads that never stop buzzing these rubber feet and rubber hands that grope at pavements cements cables three striped rectangular buildings all heating up waiting to be discovered to spark to blow to die to flash and burn everything down to the ground. a spectacle to behold.

still, there must be some ground/room for optimism, no? it is either the lack of sleep or the lack of freedom or your overarching attachment towards persons and things and updates that really mean nothing in the long run. what will not go away will never go away, and you need to assure yourself of that. so in between listening to advice on how to behave in public human traffic or how not to spend money or how to stop having audible monologues or how to order coffee or how to dress, in short, how to present and maneuver your ill-equipped self to the world without being dependent on other people (there is still much to be learned), you must learn not to be held by the arm at every stop at every doubt but to step into the right direction and stick to it without wavering.

at this point all things seem to desist in meaning and new words crop up shrooming over your head out of sheer aching of not being used for a while. desist? i insist. and the lids are again heavy and the body weary and the heart empty. boohoo. every day new faces crop up too and there is never enough time to reconciliate with them so they fade into the background without ever being told or remembered by. just another day and another face that will soon efface and be replaced.

at this rate how shall anything have meaning?