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Automatic Writings

White Walls

White walls mocked me with their pale, blank, noseless stare,

As I looked to them for help.

I left that room without understanding.

And then I understood.

I understood that I was being used by the mind.

I stuck my head out the window, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

But I know that it cannot last long,

If I am still taken by the ideas it holds so dearly.

It seems to be that most problems arise from the inability to do nothing.

To stop the pursuit.

But we become so dependent on the pursuit.

We do not know who we’d be without it,

Or what we’d do without it.

We are compelled to fill these moments of emptiness with something, anything.

Usually poison with a pleasant fragrance.

To be left out in the cold, wrapped in a wet blanket, accompanied only by the sight of our own breath.

The hard truths of life can be so difficult to bear.

To lose all hope, to surrender it all.

The fragrant toxins are so enticing that to go cold turkey feels like becoming homeless.

Where will you go? What will you do?

If you truly come to know there is nothing, there will be nothing!

But I know in my heart this is the truth.

But how quickly I forget,

How quickly I forget.

The idea that this is an achievement,

Keeps it entirely out of one’s reach.

And may I ask you sincerely what achievement in this world rewards one by dumping him into the middle of the Arctic Ocean at midnight?

But it’s the only way, isn’t it?

The other way, is simply too much of a burden to bear.

There was a time when it wouldn’t be considered a burden at all.

But after years of hope,

After years of lies,

I really started to believe it.

And may I be fortunate to recognize this, perhaps before it being too late?

It’s the fear of being alive that keeps us dead.

The fear of being an ancient insect that crawls the earth.

Strange solace,

Frightening peace.

All I ever wanted to do was hole up somewhere.

I did that for years.

And I cannot for the life of me remember if I was holed up in this, or running away from it.

Probably, learning to run away from it.

The first time I recognized I was truly alone in this world was when I was about ten years old and it was a frightening experience indeed.

With everyone off on their wild goose chases,

Me, knee-deep in simulation,

The truth was shown to me and I had a horrible disgusting feeling in my gut.

Petrified.

Not a feeling of loneliness,

Not even close.

Just a stark awakening to what was.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

I’m in a cold, wet city and I’d welcomed the change of pace.

But today feels especially cold.

It feels like that day, 17 years ago.

But at least I can see,

At least I can see.

I used to write about feeling like I’d been dragged through the mud for most of my life.

And this is truth.

But I’ve been the one doing the dragging for years now,

Having been accustomed to the act.

Am I finally ready to quit?

Am I finally ready to see that it cannot be part-timed?

My grandeur is a response to monotony.

When these feelings arise I can’t help but run the other away.

But as soon as I do, I trip over my own tripwire.

I reel in pain and nurse my wound.

Monotony is hard for me to accept.

Ambition is a dangerous thing.

And so I do it to myself,

I do it to myself.

I saw myself for the first time in the mirror, just now.

I don’t know why, but I felt an unspeakable connection to my past.

Even my face seemed to be of a different quality.

Something has changed.

This city is an unforgiving place.

Somewhat like life.

Perhaps it has made a good teacher.