Come Hell and High Water...

If there is an occult cult worshipping the very idea of how life should stays in vacuum, I’ll be the first in line among extremists, who willingly perjured the sanctity of life by contemplating suicide, or attempted and succeeded. To protest against any motion that so much nudge it. Objecting to the vision of change. Tightly hold onto the state of stationary, routine, and habit. For it feels so good, like lying still on a pre-warmed bed on a rainy day. Or eternal summer where daylight is generous but delicate, so subtle the sunshine is, it gives you a peck of tan, and no judgment.

Life, if not change is a constant state of comfort without seeking anything beyond it. No more, no less. Only scratching line in between it, just right. Neither pain nor euphoric. Treacherous is the path ahead. Risk and vulnerability aren’t friend. Why move beyond point of familiarity? The possibility of ethereal gratification was heard of, not seek upon. This state of not wanting to change is living like an empty vase by the window. Collecting dusts.  

My writing has no segue, I’m sorry. It stops (not pause) abruptly and harshly move onto another idea. Transition is pampering. Like desensitization therapy to those with phobia. Adjustment is childish. Maldjustment is childish. Change if not abrupt, to me it is as good as never happen. Cold turkey-ing one state, is like me against inertia. Inertia is constant against movement, movement against rapid deceleration. She is bipolar but not wrong.

Future satisfaction always soon. Its existence so unreal, its absence palpable. Unmoved beyond point where life is just good, expecting different outcome is such wishful thinking. Joining nothing to not much, expecting something.

‘Til this paragraph, I still have no decision about change. But reflection I did. I am at that vacuum. Floating insignificant. For me to become something, I need to settle and make amend with gravity. Be grounded. I heard he’s mean, but at least I will be real. Fall is hurting.

Floating is nothing like flying or swimming or sailing. Flying is liberating and purposeful. There are distances accomplished and force exuded. Floating is helpless, passive and lazy. Relying on air and water current to carry. Current is time simile.

Time never still. It stays temporary. Temporal.

Floating. It is safe at sea but wasteful on air. At least drowning is a change of state from living to dead. One being to something to perpetual nothing.

…this too will end.

P.S.

“Oh you,” Jack Donaghy said “…you are negative, pessimist and endangered becoming permanently sour,” for she is Liz Lemon, pun intended.

Well sour at its very least a taste. Acidic. Try licking vacuity, and tell me how the ‘nothing’ reminds you of something.

I worshipped vacuum. I’m embracing change. I believe in gravity.