Again I was something else, running up and down hills as the sunlight washed over me in a pink-orange spectacle of noise, like a beach blanket flapping in the wind. I was alone again, slightly lost, with all the time in the world. Perhaps doing all of this from the comfort of my adjusting chair is pathetic, but besides the magnetism of my homeland, there isn't a way to pierce the veil in any meaningful way. Meaningful, not just a jack off session at the mall to lubricate my hands in some vain attempt to hope something sticks. I find plenty of things sitting here, actually, same as dead men before me, same as you. We never stop moving. I think sleep exists so animals don't go mad, believe somewhere that we rest, that we discontinue temporarily.

The only thing that annoys me is the fact that this small thought isn't new, or the context where I unearthed it. All the time I find people saying the same things, relying on the same inside jokes, phrases, and while I enjoy them I keep note of them and especially my own. It's as though I can't avoid sounding the same. It just comes naturally. I don't think when I speak or even discuss something, but in the back of my mind I'm silently willing myself to make it just a bit different.

I'm a terrible judge of my own actions, but I like to think I've at least followed them. If the past is any indicator, I'll find myself in a new situation of some kind, like/hate it at first, move to the opposite incrementally, come to a compromise, then side with one extreme or another.

Most of the times, like now, when I write these diatribes I already see how pointless putting it down is. Before I'm done I have my catharsis and what seemed meaningful is useless. But you go through with it anyway.

Or you stop.

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