Lonely guides
If only I could fast forward the tape of happenings. I would be the happiest person on Earth. I would not see the destruction and “creation”. If I was the only one who stayed, while everything transformed, would you feel lonely? Would you wish: “I wish, I never stayed.”
I see as everything changes. Morals, loves, needs, happiness, death. It is not cyclical, its direction is clear. Everything goes towards entropy, or so they say. The harbor of the not-there.
I imagine it as in the animated movie of Sinbad and the Seven Seas, or something like that. When they tip over the horizon, and they arrive at the ever-changing sand dunes.
Would you change anything even if you knew? Would you stand up to the way it is going to happen? Is futility unavoidable? How can we not trend toward a certain direction, when everything in our nature points in that way.
Can I make you happy or I can not make you happy? Do you love me or you do not love me. The banality of the question is true for our nature, very much so.
Do we have the reins in our hands or we want the illusion of reins in our hands? Can we break away from the beings we are, or we are chained to it for our life. Can we be others or we just tell ourselves so.
Can the dead arise or they never died. Can we ever imagine death at all?
Between the frameworks of our operand, we sail away to far-away lands, where we can not be bothered with the pressuring entity of “now”. It is always farther and farther away.
Sail away, my little lonely ship, not one wave shall disturb you in my wake.
Be with me just for a smile,
give it your best to make me laugh,
caress me negligent, wandering,
mind shut, eyes wide, hammering.
P.S.: I wonder whether I am alive at all.
He said it is gonna be okay. He said we will all survive. Is it really import to be somebody in this world? Why can’t I just be myself? Why can not I just be a log on the sea adrift? I don’t want to go anywhere. I am perfectly okay, where I am.
Will humanity every arrive at a shore? Will our dreams every come true? Is there a point to life when it does?
Could we say we had dreams when they came true instantly?
Is there a point to living, where the information is living? Can I tell you a story with you knowing it? Can I tell you anything random which is truly random?
The whirlpool of singularity will follow us till Not- there-lands. We will be haunted by the fact that we are haunted. “You seem a bit crazy, my friend. Go and work on it.” “I will” - he says, then leaves quietly.
Somewhere, where is summer,
you just stare upwards and wander.
Blue fills your vision up, #don’t care.
The summer breeze, a caress,
an 18+ RPG: you and herself.
You may think in ouroboros-es:
such cute, little things.
„We exist cause we exist-
There is nothing more to it!”
„Why search for meaning?
Just watch contently...”
Somewhere, there may be summer,
which has been washed away by my fears.
What remains is a flash-back of it, imprinted,
that keeps pestering my brain.
