Dances with Death and Narrow Goals
Fifty connected thoughts.
Readers,
What is this? All I have are shrugged shoulders. This is the way of those without agendas. No angle, no niche, no sculpted persona or style, just an unending experiment. Raw expression.
I was born from chaos and I will die in chaos. It is my home.
Yours,
—C
I didn’t choose to be here.
Two people, bound to both space and time, made a collective choice.
A narrow choice with a narrow goal.
Which means they didn’t consider anything but the moment.
This is human.
Essentially human.
We are temporal beings barely treading water in forces and influences invisible and abyssal, after all.
Anyway, here I am, a herald of chaos and consequences.
I am grateful, no matter how unintentional and half-assed my creation was and continues to be.
I mean, have you looked around?
LIFE IS ASTOUNDING, ASTONISHING, BEAUTIFULLY WEIRD AND MYSTERIOUS.
Non-existence is not a choice or possibility until one exists.
I played around with non-existence for a bit.
Self-destruction is the path of those who, for whatever reason, cannot see things for what they are.
I don’t recommend it, but choice is not exactly the deciding factor.
BECAUSE, AMONGST OTHER TERRORS, THEY CAN BRING YOU BACK.
And existing, while a supreme miracle of Magnitude Unfathomable, comes with some serious caveats and covenants featured in very, veeery small print that was once blatantly legible and revered but made almost unreadable in service of…NARROW GOALS.
I had a goal of “getting my shit together” when I was brought back from the brink of non-existence.
The problem was, togethering my shit meant referencing a world constructed out of narrow goals.
But before I acknowledged that profound trap, I had some more fucking around to do.
I know.
It sounds insane.
It was.
We are.
While truth illuminates and liberates, in this world it often arrives inconvenient and unwelcome.
Ignored truth, hidden truth, denied truth, are acts that cannot be maintained.
The longer truth is avoided, the greater the consequences.
Don’t get me wrong, plans are great.
It’s how things get done, especially complicated and intricate aspirations such as art and of works of great scope, like building bridges and raising children.
But plans, simple to complex, in service to narrow goals ignore a lot of context and interrelation.
Enter: Consequences.
There’s no guarantee that they will be heeded.
The big ones seem sure to bring clarity, but the mind and congregations are wily—quickly forgetful and dismissive.
Especially when in service to addiction, delusion, and the pursuit of power.
Sometimes a small repercussion, like sundered pride, like shattered vanity, teaches volumes.
You know when you dream of losing teeth?
I learned getting the shit beat out of me was a strange gift.
Self-destruction is agency’s ghost, and consequences are the dispeller of its spectral will.
When you’re dreaming of steering wheels, reflection is hard and humbling.
But it’s crucial when plans go awry, when the act of living is buried in pain, when failure roosts, when catastrophe unfurls, when atrocities run rampant, when loss claims its precious price.
The abandonment of the behaviors and beliefs that led to their creation is the path to redemption.
Preserving one’s station, mastering the rules, going with the flow, are sometimes the deepest betrayals.
Self-betrayal hurts others, too.
Some committed wrongs are so wide and deep they become imperceptible.
Their shadows are long and cannot be undone.
Acknowledgement can feel like perdition, but if you don’t know you’re in already in Hell, how can you escape?
Remember, when struggling to stay afloat in a raging river, swimming against the flow ends in death.
Swim perpendicular to the flow, towards the bank if you want a chance to survive, and to help save others.
There are great continents of reciprocation to roam other than the terminal islands of winning and losing.
I hope to meet you in possibility’s wilderness.
"I hope to meet you in the possibility’s wilderness."
At the end of the world I would like you on my side.