the words are exploding in my head
I don’t know anymore. There are a million things that I need to say in a particular order, and it’s all coming apart at the seams. There’s just too much information out there, it’s like looking for a way to pick up one molecule of water at a time out of the ocean, making sure to pick each one up in a particular sequence.
It is, surely, madness.
And here I am wrapped up tight in indecision, wrapped up tight in irresponsibility. I want nothing, and so nothing ever comes true.
Is there a song tied around this loop-de-loop, this neverending ouroborus eating its tail. Waves upon waves, the way the light reflects off the waves, the waves of protoplasm and electricity coursing through my fevered mine.
Hanging on tangentially to this sense that something has got to make sense, even as I ramble and blather, recognizing that it is only just quite, just barely. I’m groping at something in the dark, trying to feel for a thread of hope, a thread of meaning, without crushing the life out of it.
Damn it.
Would I undertake such a journey? To the outer reaches of humankind’s experience, to the brink, a thousand light years through vacuum, the tenuous spaces in between, only to come within reach and fail? (Doesn’t all life eventually fail, in the end?)
What would keep me from the madness, outside of the gravitational grip of my mother star? How would I stay coherent? How would I maintain even a semblance of sanity?
The biggest problem of all is that I stopped believing, and I don’t know if it’s possible to start again.
The ludicrousness of some of the things I had hoped—sometimes I just can’t help but laugh. Who wishes for these things that can’t possibly ever come true? There is clearly something wrong with me. As if that weren’t blindingly obvious.
(I’ve always been a fan of the subjunctive mood. I can’t wait until proofreaders start marking me wrong.)
