Finality

Mornings and evenings can sometimes merge into a single blankness. When you let time pass you by, you're missing out on the way the sun comes up, or goes down. That is something of a manufactured night, without end.

We can sit in front of a lit screen and let fingers run wild in a frenzy of the inane, because it is easy. What is easier, is to explain it away. The excuses the mind makes to justify your delinquent fingers are rarely strong enough to hold up before a deeper examination. So the words you utter create a noise to distract you away from investigations of your self.


You're running away from meanings that words carry, because you're easily overwhelmed by how easy it is to misuse them. The sense of sanctity you attach to them turns into a neurosis translated into scattered dialog that means nothing. Nothing except your laziness, and your cowardice. This is saddening, to see you fleeing from your own words. Are you worried you'll run out of them, if you use them well? Or are you anxious that they may reveal too much of you, and make you a little vulnerable?

It is so hard to express the real, and the profane is such a comfort zone. How long can it all last, though? Eventually, the meanings that lie inside you will rebel and your little bubble of artificial peace will burst. It'll leave you more vulnerable than speaking yourself ever would. It might bring forth a hatred for your own fingers, your own tongue and your own mind.

It isn't just about words. It is about what you are not doing. The way you are stalling, and evading. It is the inertia you might've tried to label ennui, but didn't(you are not yet delusional). You know you have a lot to do, a lot to subject yourself to. Every minute I waste, there's the sound of a clock ticking in the back of my mind. Which is so easily drowned out, sometimes by alcohol. At other times, by the ruckus you surround yourself with.

Staying alone is different. Alone is alone, only when it is you, and not masks or acts. Solitude doesn't mean blankness, and numbness. It means a self-reflection and a painful honesty. You make plans. You keep thinking of when you will run away, or when you will achieve what you are capable of. Then, instead of action, you let futile thoughts run amok inside you. Your hands are tied by the meaningless threads you create. Of people, with a childish chaos and a space where everything can exist except yourself.

Maybe it's time to go back a few years and remember what it was like to do, and to feel. Not just to want and to build castles of sand. Your theory of evolution is obviously flawed. You concede gracefully, and rebuild.

There is no such thing as a "no exit". I'm making mine now. See you on the other side, if you live there, too.

:)