Barreling along into oblivion at the overripe age of 2,046,952,170 seconds. Moment to moment all along the way. The entity pulling the strings of this puppet still convinced that the show will go on indefinitely. Little by little the world around drops away like clods of earth. What grows old deteriorates. How can this be? All the good ideas remain forever fixed ahead in the future like the guiding light of a distant star. Some truly eternal equation that by this point has been dashed upon the brittle surface of the failing flesh of one’s now dead loved ones. What is palpable in the place of palpable feelings but pain and stiffness heralding the approach of one’s own demise? Who after all lives up to the average implicit in the statistical curve of probability that serves as the temple limestone of this current age of mankind? I feel my erratic heartbeat shaking the notion of infinity in this place that has become equally too well-worn. There are some lessons here but where at the end of time are they taken with to? What was the wisdom behind 6600 hamburgers or nearly a thousand gallons of coffee? How many words thrown loosely about or different models of cars driven till they were overcome by rust? Or for that matter, any quantity descriptive of one’s lifelong consumptions? Meaningless equations that explain nothing! The greatest mystery of all material things is their illusory hold on one’s existence. The basic wonder of childhood trying to figure out who lives in the closet or under the bed? Is this daily return to the continuum of sensibility just a slow version of the nightly recapitulation of that world encountered in slumber? If so how does one get these opposite natures within and without to communicate directly, or would that somehow lead to an apocalyptic event of instant self annihilation? The heartbeat counts out the instants like a metronome and one must travel at the speed of its varying tempo. Breathe in and breathe out and work on refining that exchange. The conundrum of human existence is simply one of interchange at its most elemental level. A persistent tremor that knows not the larger context of its own place or worth. For such things, when one ponders it outside their sense of self, has no perceptible meaning at all?
That Persistent Sense Of Insensibility