i owe it to myself, and to whoever i might possibly end up with, to be myself now, without them, and to continue to be myself even after i meet them.
the people around you are like a fluid that you continuously move through and past. it’s lonely to think of people and their minds and their souls as things that you pass by.
if there was no time, there would be no such thing as distance, because all that makes two things physically separate is the time it takes to travel from the one object to the other. we would be surrounded by everything and everyone that ever made us happy.
the passage of time is important, indispensable, to the people who want to achieve something. it’s a race that never ends, all the training and all the failure, all that is part of the race. there is no finish line, there is only running and running and running.
i remember in junior high or elementary school and we had to run in gym and i hated running. i just did the running. like, i wasn’t the kid who would throw up and i wasn’t the kid through whom the teacher could relive his youth vicariously, but my point is that a lot of people sit down in the race like the girls in my second grade class who would sit down in the middle of the best dodgeball game ever because it was stupid.
and the thing is that yeah, dodgeball is stupid and a race metaphor that combines notions of life and achievement and time, that’s just as stupid, but i loved dodgeball and i love this stupid race too and i’m going to keep running it until one of my ribs literally breaks through my chest and sprays blood all over the asphalt ahead of me and my leg bone pierces through my ankle and grates on the ground and splinters and shreds like a green stick just pulled off the tree and until everyone i know can look at me only pityingly and an xray shows no injury, but rather just age, and that the age was only brought on by the race itself.
what is it about the body that makes people who pursue these things want to break it down and destroy it? is there some promise of liberation? to see the destruction and decay of everything physical and to know that something inside you is still soaring?
a lichen on a rock that has decided that 0 mph is maybe the right speed for me if you please thanks very much, though, and send me a postcard from infinity when you never get there. enjoy the ride and the hatred of yourself when your sweat hides in your eyebrows such that the slightest wince might send a stream of stinging salt into eyes forever fixed on the horizon that may as well be your only place worth getting to.
my name and address: travelling acrobat, the horizon, earth. never send me anything. thanks.