As for Time, I’ve begun to measure it, not by seconds or minutes, rather by moments of weakness, waste & knowingness. Death crosses my mind often, like earlier this morning; the thought of death woke me, and kept me tossing and turning. Its naturalness is nothing to fear, and for some reason we have an unrequited faith in the actions of nature. When contemplating death, and its innate relation to the universe we must also look at the big picture in Time’s essence of where we stand as an infant race, a small step so to speak. We are here and have been here since the beginning. While taking on the form of conscious beings, perhaps we are not ready for the given responsibility, a conscious responsibility of knowing while acting. We say that animals don’t know any better when they act like savages, but what of man? What of euthanasia, rape, do we not know any better? Man is actually concurrent with de-evolving its own race, and the rest of the earth along with it. Although the use of the word exterminating would have served better, I believe before our self-composed extinction, which I am forced to see pending on a constant expanding universe that there is still hope.
And as the doubt settles in, I wake up from a dream: Me, down here on earth and quickly the view is higher past the clouds, space, soaring through the dimensions and the view gets infinitely smaller until the last thing I see is a Petri dish with two scientists hovering over and poking at the small cells of madness. Size and distance is all relative. What seems big to us is quite small in the grand scheme. While tossing, and turning in bed at 5am I am forced to doubt validity in even our own existence. It’s getting harder and harder to sleep nowadays, and stay asleep for that matter.
My plagued subconscious is driving me crazy. The OCD’s have decided to kick it up a notch, and I am not dealing with it too well. The only seeming end to these fits is to punch a wall. I use a backhand of course, because to put a hole in the wall, and needing stitches wouldn’t be too rational. I could question all day, and night upon what is what with the consciousness of humanity, but I myself am at war and I am about to lose. In the grand scheme I suppose, the hopelessness in which I possess is beginning to outweigh the curiosity that fuels me. Now, more than ever, is certainly the time to worry. This is precisely what I was concerned about in getting personal with this discussion. I am a mess from the moment I am abruptly woken in the morning to the fleeting seconds as I pass out at night. Now, for me to pose as a hero and say that I need to change is already beyond me, so where do I stand? The Voice speaks as if annoyed:
“Apparently between hell and hot water, boiling in fact. Stand tall and conquer Jackson.” Conquer what? Last night I lost to an invisible opponent. What dimension does this monster reside in, and why is it out to get me? I cannot please it no matter how hard I try. I just want a sense of peace, a seemingly fleeting peace that enjoys watching the reoccurring self-infliction of distraction which buys me a few minutes of salvation.
For a moment I would like to acknowledge that this piece, this project, is now fully submerged within my own destructive psyche, nudging away the rest of society, which was previously intended. I knew this could potentially occur while getting personal, as dully noted earlier. But to ignore it would have been suicide as well as blasphemous.
It’s hard to go day by day, and moment to moment without a clue as to where you fit in society. I get it. I understand the unknowingness of life a s a necessity, but if we are so perfectly placed in such a large universe, how can we be so eager to piss away this opportunity at understanding why we were given this chance? Granted, I believe in the soul, the reason for being, but consciousness is a gift. Life is a gift and too many things could go wrong for this accident not to happen. So, if society is hell-bent on destroying itself, despite the elite’s attempt at saving themselves, why would I fit if I am that voice in the wilderness? Why would I fit in any sense other than a revolutionary? I am not happy that my income is supplemented from bussing the tables of the glutton, obese or ignorant, hell, some people just don’t know any better.
What am I to be, a salesman? Stand in a store and beg, trick or grease someone up to buy something, to buy something? “Oh this couch would fit perfect up your ass!” Imagine me on the phones selling gold, etcetera, I can go on for days with that rant, so where do I stand?
The shock of evolutionistic necessity hits hard if you let it, and I let it. Now I am faced with the task of continuing with life while facing inevitable defeat. Continue on what, good merit? I suppose, but at this moment I am at a loss for words. Humanity wasn’t a total loss; at least we had Gandhi and Coltrane. And of course, for every Gandhi is a Hitler, 5 serial rapists and their defense attorney’s, but we carry on and fight the good fight. These scum, as they are, outweigh the good, we know this, their force topples numbers making victims. It’s our consciousness that allows these attacks. Our conscious is fed, bred and pumped with morphine-like distractions until we are too numbed, afraid, or terrified to care and fight back.
Like the rat swallowed by the snake, I stand out.