There is something wrong with my writing.
Perhaps it lies in the lack of action.
Perhaps in the absence of desire.
Desire is a word which keeps pressing forth.
Demanding my attention.
Knocking on the inner recesses of my mind like a pushy salesman.
Not that I am filled with desire or even ambition.
I am filled only with the gnawing emptiness which heretofore
has consumed my entire consciousness and blocks all other thoughts.
Not a stray tittle of mental activity escapes nor enters without
the taint of darkness staining the primordial ooze.
How can one have hope when there is nothing to be hoped for?
So easy to sit back and judge when there is nothing in your
life to compare with this topic.
People are experts at solving others’ problems.
Everyone a therapist with the chronological experience gained by
their age. Ignorance is magnified, not reduced, by their delusion.
All in proportion to their self-proclaimed wisdom.
There is no relief from this insanity. No miracle cure to slap the perception, nor perspective back in synch. Escape is neither in waking nor sleep. The drugs and alcohol provide a temporary solace but nothing further. The great wise counselors would have one believe that the chemicals are causing these problems, but that is not the case. Bring tome after tome of medical examples, journals stuffed with case studies of such a nature, and all are rubish. Each individual is alone. Every man an island landlocked together as a series of interlocking chainlinks. Independent and interdependent. Is this a cry for help? A series of psycho-babbling ramblings of a sick man? All is relative. Everything referenced from some perspective, some elusive delusion. Lift the veil and witness the miracle. Pray for enlightenment only to receive the curse. All-perceiving ignorance abounds. The frail mind is capable of only a limited grasp. All minds are frail. Even yours. Erect a statue of yourself and worship the hedonistic gods which daily demand sacrifice for their pleasure-giving. Fill your free time with deluded activities as they provide the only escape for the ignorant. Church? Fuck-it. Work? Fuck that rat-wheel. Money? Temporary relief from minor aches and pains but extracts a payment much higher than delivers. Sex? An unfulfilled journey into the fucked-up mind of someone else. Fuck that. Self-worship? Discover quickly that your god is made of clay. The Bible? Some but not all. The Koran etc. etc. et al, ad nauseum? Same shit different papyrus. Answer. We are all searching for something. Perhaps it is disguised as happiness, or success. Whatever label placed upon the object of our search it matters not. We all walk away empty-handed. Last note for you know-it-all’s that have everything figured out. “Keep living the dream, baby. As soon as you come up for air you’re gonna find it stinks.”
