It's odd how subtly you shift from wanting to have power over yourself while growing up to constantly compromising; dealing; trying. There's a littany in my head that keeps repeating the same (slightly updated) quote:

It always seemed weird to me as a teenager. I've become older and finally understood what it meant. It's horrifying in the same way the beginning of bad date is. Normally I wouldn't bother talking about any of this. My problem is that even the two party system of cynicism and optimism isn't winning tonight.

In a way I understand the cult of living now. It's a method of dealing that you can see, like as a recent immigrant. Problems and complications are met with general assessments like "my day has been so busy, but I'm good" or "yeah, it's a pain, but we'll make it". Most quotes are ended with a nervous laugh.

The cult sees difficulties and puts a positive twist on them for others. Most occasions like them ignite smiles and nods of sympathy. The same thought always occurs to me when teeth flash and people rev sympathy: do you genuinely feel this person's pain, is it so you can offload your own shit, or is it just an expected social ritual? Some combination of the three. Everything is a combination nowadays. Women aren't women, they have a masculine side; noone favors just one type of music. I think it's the invasion of interior design color schemas. There is no red, blue or green. We subsist on Burgundy and azure meadows, with things infinetely complicated and inexplicable...usually with a nervous laugh at the end.

These are the mornings that tempt suicide and acts of fancy.

To get back on track, this is a pointless conversation for either you or I to be having. Within some varying degree we already know all of this. I think the ultimate modern faus pax is to come out and say it. After all, we live in a particular time and climate. We deal. We compromise. What else can you do? Why the fuck are you bitching about it? What, life is horrifying? No shit...and on and on like that.

But that doesn't scratch out that we all hate what we're doing in some varying way. I have my testing, you might have your children, your job, your parents, something that slides an opaque block into some opening you find in whatever maze of life you've grown.

Funny thing is that the block and the maze are there for entertainment. All of what we establish is for entertainment. Not in the decadent pornographic excess sense, but I mean just as something to keep your interest keen and your participation active. That's what it boils down to for me. I want to see just how something comes up, turns out, goes away, comes back.

My little gothic problem is that I'm ceasing to find anything in it. It's hard to feel something because I've second guessed myself before I've already guessed, like an emotional defensive mechanism. It's that way with everything I can think of at the moment: a woman whose building blocks are scorching fire, who tempts me to close distance and stare in futility into the dead of night; a future still in its box with the assembly instructions, etc.

In essence I'm wondering: what happens when the entertainment fades? Not the maze you run for your benefit, not the things you occupy yourself with...I mean the core, fundamental, quintessential being of why all of that was given birth in the first place. I've found several imaginary scenarios and situations I run through often, sometimes of the past where life seemed well; sometimes about a present that's altered slightly, with different friends as close to me in proximity as they are emotionally; sometimes about a future in a house I've never seen that's me, with a little girl who thinks I'm cool, or a woman that I'd sworn to give up for an oddball life quest, or sometimes just myself, sitting.

In essence I'm not sure why I'm still playing. I feel lost. I see deceit and emptiness where there probably isn't any. I of course hear the older members of the audience shake their heads, maybe cluck their tongues, while the younger ones wonder if my corner of the road is one they'll be turning on soon. I have no idea in either case. Defending yourself at a time of vulnerability is like fucking after you've learned your mother has been shot, so I don't bother.

In essence I've perhaps mentally spent myself into a cup or tissue...but maybe, somehow, I've at least made it clear to me that I've pointed something out. Maybe by pointing it out I can do something about it.

It's curious how you can't stop, even for a little while. I wonder what it'd be like. Then again, if we can remember when we sleep, perhaps we're already there.

Perhaps I can find there now and this will remain as only words on a page.

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Portal of the Dead Comment: So appropos you can stick a fork in it.

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