^ (n a v i g a t e) ^
11:24 a.m., 2002-12-16
to again plunder this forgotten trove of synchronized heartbeats and wistful imprints of steel-tipped pens in segmented flourishes. to again become a slave to confinements: distance, time, goals, lives. there's a subtle and desperate sense of bereavement in these all-night discourses that plods towards a sense of cynical and defiant hope which dissipates as heated vapor as the cooling of the absence sets in. i'm grateful for my admittedly dour sense of self-awareness. i never say i'm worth more and as a result am never disappointed.expecting heaven is what hell is all about.
i am mine. the marriage of my patience and willingness to function is one of convenience. i grow dissatisfied. there's a muffled static behind my eyes that intercepts and glazes over everything i see.
my mind wanders and masters me.
there's a searing coagulation of futile memories dam-flooded in my half-conscious rambles. they blend and wrestle and disagree in chronology. my limbs grow cold and stiff and unused. when my chest heaves early in the dark morning without an arm laid across it, room is made for another, and so goes the process until there are no more heaves and the thanklessness of fitful rest resumes.
impermanence is the only permanent.
with phase after phase thrust through the breech and spat through the rifled barrel of reality and menial tasks pervading every facet and corner of life, the questions flood through the static, belch and swell and froth backward through the breech and pierce the coagulation, spilling a runny hemmorage of addled memories forth as their companions.
what endures?
if the answer is nothing, then what's the use of creation?
the day i answer this is the day i move on.
