Relevance: [personal]
Tell me, why do I get to feel heartbreak for months after only a few days of my heart being full? How is that proportional? Why am I something that folds in on that wish as though it were my center? Why do I make it my center when the pain of the void lashes me even when I cannot do anything, when I am unsure, when I am tired... still it lashes. If I were dying it would not cease, and it would corrupt that end with a sadness unwarranted by my other beliefs, by the rest of my experience, by everything that I have known. I suppose though, that is a place from which strength can be drawn… the indifferent other that pours rich gifts of perception and solid branches of continuity into me even as it defiantly cares not for me as I care not for the invented identities and desires in myself. Because I know they are all false, hilariously un-real weavings that fall away with the rain and clog the gutters only for a moment before being washed down with the rest of history’s refuse.
Tell me, why do I get to feel heartbreak for months after only a few days of my heart being full? How is that proportional? Why am I something that folds in on that wish as though it were my center? Why do I make it my center when the pain of the void lashes me even when I cannot do anything, when I am unsure, when I am tired... still it lashes. If I were dying it would not cease, and it would corrupt that end with a sadness unwarranted by my other beliefs, by the rest of my experience, by everything that I have known. I suppose though, that is a place from which strength can be drawn… the indifferent other that pours rich gifts of perception and solid branches of continuity into me even as it defiantly cares not for me as I care not for the invented identities and desires in myself. Because I know they are all false, hilariously un-real weavings that fall away with the rain and clog the gutters only for a moment before being washed down with the rest of history’s refuse.
And so it is with me. Yet those tangled spider webs of meaning still fracture my vision... my observation of the golden storm. My innermost desire is to make these loose strands into a solid support that does not restrain me from viewing-- but is a platform, an architecture of the self that buttresses and aids my study. To be a direction in looking and in motion. To not break in stillness. I… think… that is what I want the most from this life.
That is my answer to "Stalker".
That is my answer to "Stalker".
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