20/19

Sitting with a blank page is not possible when no pages are ever left blank. Feeling the need to over clarify, identify or understand a statement said, flavour of bread or what’s in your own head too seriously it becomes the ripple affecting the aspects of everything else. Can the pie really be just a pie? Is there really nothing more than meets the eye? Overthinking, over feeling, overworked, underpaid, overwhelmed: So you’ve got a case of the Human Condition.

You see, it frightens me that I have accepted this duty, these words that pass from the vast circus constantly unfolding. How does one say ‘in my own words’ with words that do not belong to them? Unless they made it up. Yes, another language. More ways to explain the stains that remain embedded in the rotting brain. We will never know if that particular arrangement of words has existed prior to us saying or writing it. There is no unlikely possibility when it comes to writing. It is a whole work of fiction, until it isn’t. It is a rented piece of Earth on the body of dead trees we scratch over again to find meaning, and things, or meaning in things, but mostly ourselves. Then there is the What is your stance? Your point of view? This is the tricky part for me. It isn’t always about the moon and coffee in fact, it rarely is. Your witness was the smell of piss in the allies, mating lizards on a flickering dim light and the plastic bottles in the drain you walked past that night. It is fairly easier to be realistic, sometimes so easy it makes you almost bitter. That’s how I know I’m still human, that I’m still bitter. A little bit, at least, a recommended dosage as to never allow one’s flavour filled soul trust all that is always sweet. The world can often be unkind, but it is the only world we can participate in right now. This is our jungle and as cruel as nature can be, the animals know it is home.

I would like to be a part of this home, in a way that is beneficial to everyone. As I increase in age, I decrease in size. I want to be so small that I require no space or extra plate at dining tables, so small I stop everything I’m doing, and disappear completely. It benefits nobody, my apologies for going missing have long expired and I don’t mind all that I leave behind. I would like to participate in the human race in a way that will help other people find what they need (a line, a scratch, a helping hand, a friend) and I want to exist as that. I would like to, so very much be involved in the process of constant metamorphosis for myself, for others. Bitter truths become the cologne I don’t quite like but the smell lingers on my body for hours.

If I could have any superpower, I’d want to be a shape shifter. I would shape shift into a good modern citizen of contemporary society. I would do the Sunday barbecues and youth sports club donations. I would read the news only to complain about who’s doing what wrong, who’s at war, who’s taking who to bed without getting as fed up, as I do now. It’s too accessible it becomes barricaded. A genocide report plasters the screen page underneath a video of a cat in a top hat. A handpicked selection of ignorance to pick up or put down. There is so much pain and suffering that I cannot lift, there is a lot of hurt that I cannot undo. There will never be enough words and words will never be enough.