The Big Song is calling to me, telling me to seek it, to strive for it, whispering strange and conflicting messages in my ear. It tells me to embrace the big all. Worry not for tomorrow, and do not worry what ye shall eat and what ye shall drink and wherefor thou shalt be clothed...
Oye. All the magic and mayhem all around, all the time. And me, I DON'T know, not to beat the same old saw. But that's what I'm doing. Lacking guidance, I pound on my rusty ol' saw with a rubber mallet, trying to get a clear tone. Oh, lyrical, rhapsodic: Just so. Perfect example.
It just makes me want to scream, sometimes. But if you could see me now, flat on my back in bed, everything but my arm immobile, my aperature making this messy, just legible tumble of marks pass for some semblance of of meaning, and it does, I think. My face is mild, my eyes impassive, merely tracking the page, and this is what I'm doing... I don't know, man, is this the way? What's the WAY, I mean, what is my function, my calling, my action, right NOW.
So I asked myself what must be an old question... If the world were about to end, right NOW...
What would I do?
And I pondered it... Very difficult question. If I had one action left... Should I finish this? Wake up Jennifer? have a last cigarette...
I don't know what I would do, and that doesn't really surprise me, because of course the question I'm REALLY asking is what I SHOULD do and there's no fuckin' answer for that. People couldn't tell you what they were going to eat for breakfast tomorrow... Most probably couldn't say what they had today (I'm one of the rare exceptions, I can tell you both: cigarette).
klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.
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