I mean, what even is anything?
Repeating nonsense played over and over again.
Me or the world, it’s the same shit playing on a loop.
There are no constants, everything is in flux.
Getting a never ending sense of deja vu, for things i have and have not perceived to have happen. A growing sense of unease and foresight to how things turn out. Not just politically, not just entertainment wise, i mean real life, the sinew of organic matter.
People are born, get married, spawn, die, people get married, spawn, die, ad infinitum. It’s all so make believe and expected, like a script, but it’s real. Swinging around, and around, and around. I’m in an infinitely big room, flowing below my feet there is a dark red silk fabric, tessellated with the souls and visages of everyone I have know, will know, and still know, conveyor-belting from a dark place behind me, and a dark place in front of me, on either side it stretches of into a white fog, or maybe infinitely tapers… not sure. I see the faces of the people close to me trapped in the weave, and i’m not part of it… i’m just stood on it yet not being pulled along with it. (You know like that tablecloth trick where if you pull it fast enough the things on top don’t move). The faces i know, knew, will know, all Disappearing off into the dark distance. I’m struggling to hold my footing, I almost fall and get swept along with it but can’t, i’m too aware of where they are going, where they have come from, and that i’m not one of them. I could stop it, maybe… plunge a knife into this rolling sea of human fabric, and pin it to whatever solid earth lies below… i could rest a moment then… but It wouldn’t happen like that. The knife like I is not moving really, we are stationary, the cloth is moving… so in pinning the cloth I just create a tearing point on the surface, and the people will crash upon it, move around it, and I would still be buffeted by the relentless torrent of red silk flowing below my feet… and in time… billions of miles of this living cloth would cut through the metal of the blade… sheer it off at the point of contact… and my anchored weary bones would be carried off with the top of the blade as it is severed. I can’t win, and I don’t understand, why is this cloth here, and why can’t I be part of it?