When I was younger I used to wish that I was nobody. Someone totally anonymous and unable to be identified by any other living entity within this world. But when I reached my later years, I realized that I had succeeded too well. I wonder why like a snail or a turtle who has been defrocked of the protection of the cares of everyday existence and is now thrust into the sun, where is my long accustomed ever protective shell? This life a matter of bare fruitless existence with no one left to please beyond the burned embers of a dependent failing mother. Could life in the veil of deep space be even ever colder? The long practiced art of lament then is the insulating factor in my dilemma. Crying infants are rarely the babies that guests go running to pick up and supplicate. And while the squeaky wheel might get the grease, if indeed grease is still affordable, matches that look to service beyond their intended purpose generally end up only offering bad luck to the user who uses them two times too many. There only being so many times in the course of one’s existence that one is at liberty to commit the same mistakes, “shame on me, shame on you!”
I’ve lived long enough to see the writing of many upon the wall whitewashed over and over again, only to return as if never having been spoken in the first place. This fact alone being enough to tell me that all my earthly effort is wasted if it does not produce another like my own kind. I cannot have children anymore so I must try to kidnap the minds of other to complete this strange dance of eternal reproduction. Equally, a strange and meaningless task as carving one’s initials in a sapling and beating others with that branch. Who then can claim to be my mentor in this age of the unknowing damned? Is this merely another form of perpetual whine? I have grown up strange but still refuse to shoulder the burden. It is this all too thin but impermeable vacuum that encompasses my thought. Space may be know place to raise a family in a David Bowie song. But for some odd reason I have chosen the lack of atmosphere in the most abstract ether that mankind can imagine. This vast expanding harbor of ones and zero’s that convey intention and inspiration. It is here where this turtle will relax and lay floating in the gulf of everlastingly eternal hapless oblivion.