January 27th, 2025

john | Jan. 28, 2025, 1:12 a.m. Uncategorized

Feeling down, not sure why.  Writing that seems to help calm the feeling.  There is no where to go what ever direction you set in the coordinate system will be the direction your going.  All directions can be all directions if you simply change the perspective.

It's not down, it's deeper.  It's not up, it's higher.  Both require you to dig or elevate.  To continue.  That's all there is, There is the lack of direction is what it is.  I'm at 0,0 on the coordinate system.

The possibilities are endless, yet I just don't know where to go.  Not that it matters, because any direction I choose will be the correct one.  Can't use right there, because then what if it's actually left.

It will be progress in the sense.  Movement, just directionless.  That's where I sit.  Directionless movement.  Thoughts still linger for some reason, not sure why.  There was a day recently I felt some significant emotion. 

To be lucky, you must believe you're lucky.  There is maybe a few minutes before my time is up, and the directional movement must continue.  To where though.  Can I tap into the feeling of the ethos.  I've felt the disconnect maybe once or two.

One I wanted to desperately crawl back to the ethos, the other time I felt I belonged away from it all.  I must write, but not write this.  This is a different type of writing, this writing does nothing to ease the drudgery that the other writing needs.

It's possible, I know it.  I just have to find it.  Find what though.  Aging? Money? Women? Life? None of these seem to spark the "Thing" as is needed.  Then again, that was the old ways, maybe it's taking a dab of that, and a pinch of the story, and a shake of the acting.

But why, there is a better way.  There is a uniqueness.  It's there, but not there.  It's just something that can't be explained since it's not caught yet.  During the conversation it exists.  Maybe I should play with that. 

How or what, I don't know.  I have to find the punch, the line.  The punchline.  The misinformation, the reality, the aliveness.  The texture, it needs to be grabbed to be felt, yet I sit there clawing away at air.

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