It might seem like it’s in one ear and out the other, this supposed truth you’re getting told all the time. That is one of the scary things about being alive. There is so much you miss, and often. I’d like to explain something to myself I have no reference for. The need for the explanation comes from a place that is alive with strange incongruity. The state of not having a reference makes sense there. It is a part of the mainframe I would like to really get through. There is already enough ambiguity. I cannot necessarily make sense of any of it. And that is really the thing, at its heart. I cannot make sense of any of this. I am floating in a sea where….

            Can you imagine being pulverized? I am right now imagining it. It is slightly claustrophobic. Also, maybe a kind of a comfort in a way, like starting again from zero. If that were or could be considered a kind of a comfort. Starting again from zero. The blank page. Again. This is how I return. You can say you’re this or you can say you’re that or you can say I’m lazy. If it isn’t my gut, I don’t know how true it is. You really do have to listen to only yourself, sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes. I feel stranded in a kind of serene way. Like there’s blue shifts overhead and around me, and I’m floating out in the ocean, and it’s nearly night. And there is this ambient music playing, over the sounds of the water clogging and clearing my ears. It is strange. I was told my story was the kind that could help people, by an older man with a sense of earnestness about him. I wish I knew more words. There are not enough in my bag to adequately explain with. Or maybe I just don’t know the right order, or turn of phrase. Do you ever ask yourself questions you never intend on answering? Will I look back on this time from a far future, somehow? Will it be better then? Is that even possible? So many undecided things I can’t come up with a reason for. Why do they even occur at all? It is beautiful.