Anyways, let's talk about life.
It's so strange. I always feel like I'm a passing moment, moving through myself. Chasing. A never-ending moment urging me forwards. So, I oblige.
I feel it first in the back of my head, a feint buzz. I allow it to spread -- for once. As it seeps into my blood, my skin, my muscles. It becomes my breath, yet no matter how hard I breathe I need more.
But it drives me periphery. At my core, I'm an observer. But to observe one's own life? To feel always both within and beyond oneself? You can reach, desperate for anything, but it will never come.
Last night, I played The Beginner's Guide. I also got 2 hours of sleep and have 7 assignments due by Wednesday last week. Regardless, this is the moment I live for.
So let's talk about it.
The Beginner's Guide is fascinating. It's a telling of an anthology of games, somewhat. A story about what it means to make art, and what it means to consume art. To me, it's about when you neuter your own art with your expectations. Always doing what is "right", but not what is artistically true. Regardless.
Anyways, I don't sleep nearly as much as I should. Before I started taking iron supplements, I would sleep indefinitely without interruption. Hell, I'd sleep 15 hours. It feels like you can't control yourself.
It is a bit funny, feeling without control of yourself. I mean, god, I am myself. But then, why does my mind force me to do things? My OCD, forcing me to wash my hands, while all I want is to leave. My brain, forcing me to lay on the floor instead of doing the work I desperately need to do.
I guess that's why I feel like I'm chasing myself? Following the idea of who I ought -- who I want -- to be. It would be great to feel capable, to feel free, to feel centered. But, I guess that's the point of it all.
And so, we keep moving through ourselves. I reach out my hand, you grab it. We fall into ourselves, an infinite recursion of all our being. I ask, I ask, I ask. It isn't heard. Expected.
Finally, in our grounding, we stop falling. Now, we are the ones being fallen into. Watching the same events unfold ad infinitum. There is no change, we cannot move. Our eyes and bodies stone.
Maybe eventually, we stumble upon tea. Really, just because I like it. And I'm drinking it right now. You are too, cup in hand. It's warm. The smell gentle. But, does the joy not come from serving?
Again, we are gone. It's cold outside, but warm in the center. I turn to you, an infinite expanse. I say something, but you can't hear. A persistent humming overpowers my voice.
Okay, let's ditch this. Running around and doing vague bullshit gets old.
It's now a hallway. One of those industrial-types. Concrete, maybe pipes along the ceiling or scattered on the wall. Go crazy.
We're still walking, I lied. Bullshit is all I do. But that's fine.
The hallway gets darker as we walk, the lightbulbs having burned out. Somehow, the path remains clear.
We emerge into water. I mean, we can still breathe, though. Cool.
We keep walking forwards. I bring up some small chat and pull up a photo on my phone. Probably my cat. Anyways, I'm probably talking your ear off as we walk. It takes a while.
The water shapes itself again. Guess it looks like we're outside, in a field. We're still close to the road, though. You can hear the roar of high-speed traffic.
It's a bit cold. Just enough to where the slight chill pierces you. I've stopped paying attention.
You walk on. I don't say anything.
You keep walking. Just before you're out of earshot, I open my mouth.
Nah, I'm not going to say anything.
I watch you walk off to someplace I won't know. I don't think I could, anyways. I've just got that feeling.
I lay in the grass, and count the clouds.
