Sometimes, I think I am purposely abiding the death of time so that I can move forward. I am purposefully abiding.
But there is an emptiness in being part of the machine, and there is a filling notion that comes from the fantasy of uplifting its structure.
It’s hard to live in the moment. But, it’s even more difficult to find a moment to live in.
If I were an aphorism, I would be opposite poles of the same languid statement, but I would pierce through every facet of existence.
I am beginning to wonder why I am so overly polite to people, now, especially when I am treated like a fool for acting so. Anger is just so tiring, and destructive, and fetid. I feel anger often, but I try to get rid of it as soon as possible. Most people don’t know that suppressing or feeding anger just makes it worse. To truly let it go, you have to devalue it until it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s hard to do. Feeling persecuted by fate, or subjugated by your own decisions… or feeling weak at the thought of having the strength to carve your own path. This is the sadness of post-modern capitalism.