If I never wrote what you're reading right meow -
I wonder what we’d all end up writing or reading instead? Would this or whatever I wrote before this - or ANY writing - would it or something similar still be here?
Could nothing change it? Could nothing take it's space? Are created spaces eternal and non-budging, or maybe at least, ink smears?
For sure? Fo' Sho'? 4-shure?
And if it didn’t - would I now want to read what you were going to say before rather than what you wrote instead or both of them? Or neither?
Huh? Now I'm confused too, me!
More. Mored confused.
What are you writing about? Edit yourself -
Okaaaaay, FINE.
Hi.
Maybe I didn’t read an article that had popped up before I started writinhg this and maybe I became so sad reading of a random strangers suffering or maybe I'm still wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands, unsuccessfully stemming an unexpected flow of stinging tears noisilyspattering the desk like baby raindrops as I type this? This. This.. . .. . .....
Sometimes life hijacks life
and sometimes we’re better for it
and sometimes maybe not
What’s better anyway
and in which way
and for whommmmmmm each tear drop hisses at me
as they fall slowly
fading
not completely gone
shuffling off this salted Earth lives for something
for anything else
each drop evaporating off this mortal coil
And it’s totally okay, you know.
I’d rather have it this way instead.
It’s better this way, me thinks.
I mean, not that you’d be particularly suffering the first of many inevitable Oscar the Grouchy Marxian and not Karl Men Are From Marxian spasmodic eye twitches due to reading whatever feels-electric or maybe epileptic prose was going to previously write and that by the end of THIS sentence and whatever lifted or spontaneously-created prose by now has fully dissipated into the brine that is our brains.
Man I just fell in love with that unpunctuated and never decelerated last sentence. Probably one of my favorites I've written in a loooong time. Really. A long time, man. So much has changed. That fat free doofus from long ago. Me. Not me anymore because it was so long ago and he was kind of happy in his misery and he knew some stuff but really knew nothing, that kid - he and his boundless and wasted, ignorant energy. The ME kid from 2001 and all the years that followed. He didn’t realize that every single moment or person that you had with you or in front of you - all of them led to different lifetimes. Some of the ones that are either gone now or far, far away. They’re not yours and never will be. They’re so far away - it’s scientifically impossible to come even close to catching any slight bit of their existence. Fast, propelled, gliding, armored, wide, blotting out skies, masking whole planets…still moving while you complained or took big gulps of your wasted opportunities and retched - you should have taken baby sips and you weren’t old enough to drink that yet and maybe you aren’t now. STILL. That kid that started a blog advertised by Pyra Labs for nothing but a paltry, a measly monthly sum - more than a webpage and more customization options had me more than a tad bit smitten.
