Step by step is the only way to cross this damp desert. Yet every time I lift my foot, the weight of my thoughts multiply. Where am I going? Why have I left? Something I will know, I am bound to know, I will know, I am bound to know. Does it await me, or a false hope?
I swallow.
There's something sickening about the moisture in the air. Sour, I think. As if it were something growing under the kitchen sink. Solitude. How is the solitude? Who is solitude? Am I? Clumps of sand are in my toes. But I keep walking. Is that problematic? Surety is not an option.
I think I might lay down. Recline, as the kings of old did. That's a nice tree. Sleep is such a luxury. Sleep is a drug, maybe. I like it a lot. Do I crave it? Crave. That's a funny word. Does craving necessitate feeling? Feeling is not am option. But failure apparently is. Has the equivalent of failure, though it may be bitter, at first, brought auspices? Or are the auspices fallen from the top of the tresses of God? Like dandruff. Dandruff is unpleasant. But dandruff is dead skin. Dead skin needn't be on there anymore. so what then is done with it? Does it not feed the microbes? Hence in existing, are we not permitting God to sustain the harmonious cycle? How Taoist of me. But it doesn't seem to conflict.
What separates genius from normality? Or insanity? Results, I suppose. But do they not have the same feeling? Mania, perhaps. What separates something like Johnny's Got His Gun or Joyce's Ulysses from the higher-than-monkey's spewing of whatever comes to his mind? Mania. Mania will drive me to the end. My end, the final-efficient-causal end. And the end. Of a journey, so to say. I am finished sitting.
Potentially, I will make it. I am no longer compliant, but I do so out of non-compliance. Compliance is a funny word, too. Compliance is what they say on the papers they hand you. I would rather not. But the terms are to comply in exchange for services. To what end are these services? Momentary need. Momentary needs fail to relate to the final need. I am hungry. But my food will not last. Thus I will maintain. Je maintentdrai. Je maintendrai avec le cours. Et ne passe pas.
~Quality~
seems to have beseiged me. Is it worth reading. Writing, even. Why do anything that is not worth doing? But you can only do things that are worth doing by knowing what not to do. No one tells me not to do anything any more. A cynic would say that it isn't worth telling someone else what to do. But is there not compassion in brotherly correction? It is far greater harm to suffer a brother to mistreat himself. But as for why no one does so any more, I am afraid I cannot tell. I am guilty of that. I expiate. Expio, expiare, expiavi, expiatus. Expiatus ero, spero. I know better than to suffer a brother so. But I am bound by social convention not to correct him. Why is some verbal backlash so iresome? Fragile emotional creature. The creature continues. And the continuation leads to knowhere. But this knowhere, despite being knowhere, has somethink. I am sorry. Duality is an essence of man, in some regards. I am walking to the trees of knowhere. But knowhere, I am not sure if there is that finality of journey. But the journey, whether I like it or not, will consume my every step. Stepping down from my position. Stepping forward. Taking responsibility, responsible person to the front of the line to take charge of the country. A loaded choice. Let's just keep walking. Soon I will be there.