That’s an illusion. Just because it’s raw and unedited and flowing through me at the same pace as it is to this keyboard and all the way back to my eyes on the double monitor (why the fuck did I buy the second one?)… where was I, OK, feedback loops? I wasn’t really there but that’s where I got. I guess that’s what this style of writing is all about. He died month ago. More. It might have been me. I feel like he still is. It. He. Me.
This world is the best of all possible worlds, but I don’t think this writing will get me closer to any truth. As we said in the beginning, that’s an illusion, alluring one to which many people eventually subscribe but… We will do anything to run away from the void, so I don’t blame them. Blame, huh. How could I ever blame anybody? Besides, he blamed everyone, look where it got him. I shouldn’t be saying this, but this is either gonna be unconstrained or not gonna be at all. So I should say this. He used to quote that bullshit about meaning. That the problem is not there is no meaning. Problem is actually, ah of course, what else could it be? – that there are too many meanings to choose from. We are overwhelmed with meanings and we get paralyzed and stuck. I do think that’s bullshit. Show me one. You can’t. I win.
It’s an illusion, this reality isn’t any more raw than the immediate feeling of the fan blowing wind on my chest, or the chirping of birds in this songs sample. Let me check the name. “Thank you” by Mounika.
Well, if this is gonna work as a sort of obituary, gratefulness would be a good emotion and an idea to stop on.
Thank you, Druid.