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Rather far

My mood is variable lately.

I’ve been pondering the idea of emptiness. Complete emptiness could be comfortable maybe. An idea of absolute nothingness. But that can never be. You end up with something around the emptiness.

The thing that’s awful is that I can’t empty my thoughts. They keep going on. And what’s weighing on me most is that I just don’t know how to talk about them with anyone. Everyone I know, they don’t know. and I don’t know how to begin to talk about them. And it’s frustrating me. And when I encounter any sort of disagreement, it gets more frustrating. It’s a sensation like my thoughts have veered into a territory where there is no agreement. Maybe I am going insane. I don’t know.

I know I’m agitated by how I have to rock side to side while I write this. It’s about the only comfort I’ve got. Rocking myself that way. It doesn’t do anything to shut up the voice in my head, but at least it’s a sort of rhythm, perhaps a reminder some of the rhythm I could sometimes find in words, when I could scribble out some half-decent lines that might pass for poetry, if looked upon with gentle eyes and murmured with forgiving lips.

But there is no gentility or forgiveness in this world. At best, there is a finish and nothing. At worst, there is bitterness or contempt.

This last week I took an old sink down to the garbage pickup. I almost cried, seeing a sink of 50 years old being put out to trash. That’s craziness, isn’t it? I can’t be right in the head with craziness like that. People that are right in the head throw out sinks when they’ve gotten too old and need to be replaced. People that are right in the head forget. Memory is madness. Or too much memory is.

I remember too much shit.

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