💾 Archived View for midnight.pub › posts › 2320 captured on 2024-12-17 at 18:46:40. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
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It’s been too grievous a house. Too grievous an evening of not sitting, of marketing, my heavy clattering onto the earth-floor. When they brick my skull I don’t mention it. So they don’t when I hide to the washroom, and thickly, at the mirror, I realize: I don’t want to do this anymore. A whole childhood of promise, then four hours of promise, and then it's all offal. Rummaging your hands into the cold and wet animal, trying to predict your success. Poetry is a useless department; it never described this. Nor the secular neighbourhoods. Nor suffering under the secular tone of everybody. How long now have I been an opportunist alarmed at failure and so was talking wildly? Huddled in the back now I’m talking only to the driver, the volunteer attendant, as a cloud of gallerists schmooze in the hall. A sombre but vital lurch we take, shuffling into the night-storm after, leaving each other and yet were carried. At the bus depot I hear myself say anything. I hear it clatter off the corners of the sky of a garden. This is a garden. There are switch lights. Near the switch lights two men warm their hands and so were carried too.
Wow! That's exactly how it seems when I'm the only patron in the Pub! :-)
But, then, there's the "be careful what you wish for thing"... as in what's worse: alone, or around others that don't seem to get you?
Probably the latter... *unless* one miraculous remembers their own underpinnings. No, not that silly genealogy stuff. Not the history of peoples stuff. Not racial groupings that don't even go as deep as skin, yet even those who hate racism keep talking about different colors of people/person, belying a belief that said pigment matters.
No no no!
The underpinnings are "behind the within". In fact, even that's misleading, as all words must be given their assumption they reference a genuine, "real" objective reality.
It's when aware turns back upon itself which is no self which is nothing and yet even less than nothing, even emptier than void.
It's... well, it neither is not isn't any*thing* (see?) that could follow the word "it's".
But the tapping into it is whoosh bang holy whizbang heaven YES!, even when seemingly collapsing back into "Where the fuck did it go?" so painfully instantaneously....