what am I but a freak? if everyone else is made of their own conscience, then what am I but a collective manifestation of expectations, reactions, memories, and the lives of those around me.Â
the constitution dictates the right of the pursuit of happiness, but what if there is no happiness to be found. only a dark dank realization of the predicament we have driven ourselves to as a species.
Â one by one we will bite the dust until those left-generations ahead- will be naught but entities like myself. living off of each other, clinging to whatever there is, but falling. always, continuously falling; like a never ending set of paradoxical dice, constantly tipping each other over but never giving the satisfaction of an end. until one die, does it itself. our means of an end shall be ourselves and nothing more than a blip in the scheme of the universe. for when the last mind ceases to function, the universe will no longer exist to us as we once did to it.
I’ve been standing on the tops of buildings, hoping to catch a friend before she jumps again. but I don’t think I’ll ever see her here. I don’t think she was ever here. the roofs she leapt from are far smaller; mere steps in her ever twisting life that is now entangled with so many others. how could she?
she brought me down then took the express back to the top. walked away and flew off. east to a new home without pains like me.