Ecclesiastes1.2
Solitude is independence
I quit smoking years ago.
I'm smoking a cigarette right now. Pack three and counting. Not all in a night. Over as many days, maybe one more. I have no gift for keeping track of time yet I am more in tune with its waves and measures than anyone I've even met.
No one thinks like me.
No speaks like me.
For every YES my mind cries out a NO sounds just as loudly.
I communicate so clearly, precisely even (but not tonight). I go far, so far, out of my way to ensure that I effectively explain everything yet no one understands what I'm saying.
And tonight I am just sick of it. All of it. Everything it is and could possibly be.
Thus the cigarettes.
I see so much and understand so little and see so little but understand so much. There's no balance. Everything is, and always has been, in opposition. Both sides, together, never joining or harmonizing, but always there. Up, down, in, out, exterior and within. Through this world, myself, and back again.
I'm tired of always having to justify myself and prove that I am worth something, anything, to everyone. My thoughts have value, damn it - which means I do too.
I know I'm strange. I must be. As much pride as I take in always being on the outside looking in, fuck if it's not soul sucking sometimes.
And that's just it, no? I've been lonely all my life, at once aloof and impervious and down-on-my-knees begging to have a coversation, just one, that meant anything - that I could relate to.
I can define myself and reduce all that I am so easily: to know.
Resilient. Resourceful. Capable. Curious. Fearless and unafraid - I swear they're not the same thing - adventurous, optimistic, intuitive, creative, brave and strong... so much good. It's there. I feel it, I know it, I sense it.
But I don't have normal goals. I don't care, at all, about material wealth. I don't measure my self-worth by what I'm wearing. I don't want to buy a house. I don't want a "career" - my time is more important. I value honesty, directness, openness, and fairness.
You know what? People are awful. They are just god damn awful.
It's raining. Tiny, cold, autumn night droplets. I hear them hitting the leaves more than I see or feel them. I'm cold too - my fingertips and toes - but that's not unusual. Still smoking. Cigarette after cigarette.
And I swear on all that's holy if one more person asks me how I feel instead of what I think I'm going to punch them in the fucking face.
I'm smoking a cigarette right now. Pack three and counting. Not all in a night. Over as many days, maybe one more. I have no gift for keeping track of time yet I am more in tune with its waves and measures than anyone I've even met.
No one thinks like me.
No speaks like me.
For every YES my mind cries out a NO sounds just as loudly.
I communicate so clearly, precisely even (but not tonight). I go far, so far, out of my way to ensure that I effectively explain everything yet no one understands what I'm saying.
And tonight I am just sick of it. All of it. Everything it is and could possibly be.
Thus the cigarettes.
I see so much and understand so little and see so little but understand so much. There's no balance. Everything is, and always has been, in opposition. Both sides, together, never joining or harmonizing, but always there. Up, down, in, out, exterior and within. Through this world, myself, and back again.
I'm tired of always having to justify myself and prove that I am worth something, anything, to everyone. My thoughts have value, damn it - which means I do too.
I know I'm strange. I must be. As much pride as I take in always being on the outside looking in, fuck if it's not soul sucking sometimes.
And that's just it, no? I've been lonely all my life, at once aloof and impervious and down-on-my-knees begging to have a coversation, just one, that meant anything - that I could relate to.
I can define myself and reduce all that I am so easily: to know.
Resilient. Resourceful. Capable. Curious. Fearless and unafraid - I swear they're not the same thing - adventurous, optimistic, intuitive, creative, brave and strong... so much good. It's there. I feel it, I know it, I sense it.
But I don't have normal goals. I don't care, at all, about material wealth. I don't measure my self-worth by what I'm wearing. I don't want to buy a house. I don't want a "career" - my time is more important. I value honesty, directness, openness, and fairness.
You know what? People are awful. They are just god damn awful.
It's raining. Tiny, cold, autumn night droplets. I hear them hitting the leaves more than I see or feel them. I'm cold too - my fingertips and toes - but that's not unusual. Still smoking. Cigarette after cigarette.
And I swear on all that's holy if one more person asks me how I feel instead of what I think I'm going to punch them in the fucking face.