Tuesday, November 9, 2010


There seems to be a certain comorbidity to my fears and my apathy. I can't find where one part ends and another begins. They're a shroud that I've used to cover my likeness to the world, and I'm so used to peering from behind it it's become a barrier I need in order to feel secure when surrounded.

I'm falling into some semblance of reality. This sounds, on the surface, like a good thing, but I can't help but feel a certain sense of defeat in resigning myself to jumping through the appropriate hoops in life. It's the mundane (mun-dance) in a world growing ever more absurd with each passing second and word spoken, and it denigrates my choice to jump through hoops that are becoming obsolete as I slip through each of them.

I find that my heart is waning; I feel the myopic decay setting in, unstoppable, no period of waxing in even the most remote sights of my horizon. I'm sure people will protest at this claim, but I know that we are all limited to and given sight by our infinitely varied lenses of life. No two lenses match; unique, just like every other lens.

So why do I write, then..?