the existential stop

He was stuck in between what he was told to do and that which he wanted but did not know how to do. He was never taught. Sex often dominated such ideas, but it was not their core. If he didn’t know it before, he certainly knew immediately after. Lying in silence; exhausted not from action but from the fear of the temporary, fear of the idea of mortality and all it’s inevitability. Wonder swept over him often as did this fear. It was in such times that he believed himself to be normal, capable of life in the same way as the characters he revered in movies. But when the fear kicked in, fantasies of love or any of it’s abstract variant’s became idiotic and wasteful. He knew not what to devote himself to as the only devotion he’d ever witnessed seemed either forced or fake. Life was fleeting him while he partook in its splendor. No doubt existed that all would be ok, but that wasn’t the issue. Rather, what role was he to play? How did he currently, and how could he prospectively fit into things more snug? Was it all chance or was he following the invisible tracks of destiny that would admittedly propel him into the abyss of decay and regrowth? His mind swarmed with the potentials while his body withered in reaching for these unknowns. Being honest with himself, he took pleasure in the universal confusion that plagued his species. If he was alone in his endevours, he would not have made it past puberty. Alas, he did. Plowing through his saturated culture’s expectations and the hormones and the chemicals, foreign or otherwise, that composed his body, he could assure himself that he would not keel over just yet. In is hands was power that need merely be applied. To what, he’d ask? And why? Why not just keel over? The wall that seemed so distant while he occupied his mind with the trivial grew like bamboo as soon as he stopped to think. Perhaps that’s what he did to much of. Think. What if he could go on as he usually did but eliminate this debilitating “thinking”. what good did it serve any how? A new star found, the same phone remade, a motif discovered. All bull shit in his not-so-reality. Clutching his bag of crap, he stepped off the clammy bus into the rain. Its miniscule droplets slowly accumulated first on his eyebrows, but then on his entire face. He did not move. The grey elegance that enshrouded him brought him peace, even if it was just temporary. Then it struck him in the same way that the rain had quickly glazed him over. While all together, in the theoretical one, he was a segment who was segmented and so on. Pieces that changed and evolved. Time that slowed and quickened without his say. Everything he could bring to the forefront of his mind resembled this….pattern. It was the temporary. This dawning revelation was indeed simple. In fact, it still did not aid the hardship of existence. But at the very least, there was constance. His search for the dependable was not over, but he did realize its converse. He took his first step. Then another. He became feverish for control, but addicted to this newly condoned chaos that could not be denied. His steps quickened. He had no obligations: no work, no school, no girl to console. He was floating, yet he was anchored to the ground by this thing called gravity. Another constant! Why was so much inescapable, yet so much unexplainable? His frustration grew and he began to trot. The rain fell harder and colder. The faster he went, the more he felt himself free of the laws which he’d never agreed to. Past store fronts, the homeless, and moving cars. He was going nowhere and, to an onlooker, did not care. But he did care. In all probability, he cared to much, for where he wanted to go he could not. No vehicle that challenged the mobility of man could even take him there. It was outside the possible, and probably reasonable. It was likely a place of complete silence and unforgiving cold, a place that one could live or die without opinion. And off he went into the pouring rain, inhibitionless and starved of answers, burdened with the anxiety he had self created. It was all he could do


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