Lately, I've been looking past the point of interest in a bid that my subconscious will enjoy the show as much as him. 

No Desperation Limit

We aren't ships passing in the night.  We are ships with crews that speak the same language, that sing the same songs, that worship the same gods, but do not know each other.  Occasionally drafting off one another in the silence of the ocean, curious but confused by our similarities.  Our oarsmen sing songs and shout out in joy; Our captains are silent and consider their course of action.

Not the sum of bits.  More of a determinant.  An isolated bit of knowledge that requires an understanding of its component parts.  That is how we are that that is why.  We feed too much into determination to wholly discount it.  This has been ruled out.

Want something more than this concrete lanscape of savannah and woodland.  Want something more than the self, than the now, than the inconsequential ramblings of noon-day-intoxication.  This generation can't go back, and they know it.  We ride the flotsam out onto the shores.  We secretly hope we can rebuild, after all the old ones die off.  After their last grasp.

Hmm.

This is probably the last reasonable chance. Gotta learn, apply, line up letters and make nice.  Want to ride bikes, go exploring, hide and seek, cause chaos.

I am very good at:
1. Listening to NPR
2. Not caring enough not to get lost
3. Off the handle cooking
4. Starting projects
5. Removing malware from personal computers
6. Taking things apart

Not so good at:
1. Remembering what I heard
2. Showing up on time
3. Eating
4. Knowing on what to follow through
5. Dealing with crazys
6. Not taking things apart

Motivation is a funny thing.  Once it gets rolling, I feel like I could ride that wave forever.  It is too bad I take so long to get on.

The internet is a big fucking waste of time.  Mostly.

I am worn. There is a bird on the sidewalk. I think it is a house sparrow. It takes hops and cocks its head at the ground. I'm sure it is looking for something and that's okay. The sun is out and I am ok. I am just going to close my eyes for a while and feel the breeze, think about things that haven't come to pass. About things that will not come to pass. It is ok.

I'm walking along the embankment surrounding my front yard. I find this hilarious. I walk duck footed with disregard to the passing cars. There is a hazy drone in the distance and cirrus clouds in the sky. Cirrus clouds are composed of ice crystals. The breeze is not cool, it's almost warm.

Sitting under a monument for world war one veterans. Can't be world war two because it doesn't specify. The river is deceptively calm and sparkling. Troops of people talk and walk and laugh. A cheese and tomato sandwich and a smile. It is okay because old friends are still friends. And we can pretend that that matters.

There just isn't anything left. You try but you can't. You grasp but you slip. Nothing was meant or not meant to be. Just all specks of cosmic dust slamming around. And nothing cares. No thing cares at all. The crisp, clear, blue and white sky is made of ice and diffracted light and indifference.

the landscape was bathed in pastel shades of apathy

I am constantly freaked out by my human- ness. The fragility of my skin and skeletal system, how mechanical and mechanically unsound my knees seem, even the malleability and unreliability of my brain. I have a terrible time merging these fragile things with my sense of self.

Entropy, my non-corporeal nemesis. I often find myself not only at odds with her, but, more tangibly, with how the rest of the world copes with her. We can only further the inevitable heat-death of the universe. What we choose to order is of the utmost consequence.