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Mar. 28th, 2015 12:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kingtycoonThis stupid town. You know, the lights come on, the sun melts away the snow and you feel yourself - your innate kernel of identity springing to consciousness, ready at last, to live. You busy yourself with the business of living & awakening & then the cold sets back in, more serious & hateful than before. It's just the way of things in the Wasteland, but it's jarring & cruel. That's all.
I am more & more sensitive to this and other things as I get older. Not depressed or seasonally affected, that happens, but it's not this. This is the constant feeling of thwarted dreams. You know this one? Where your ambitions or hopes, the thing you want it's denied you? This usually lies in the labyrinth of human interaction, y'know - cause we all want another thing from another person, we all mash horns & old hands at the same time - trying for that thing that without even a cursory inspection seems to be the desirable thing. So you have your coworkers with their petty jealousies, their bizarre expectations, then you have lovers with their own scheming agendas - everyone wants something, it seems & the wanted thing is the thing to examine - what is it that motivates a person? You look close & see who they are, all the people you know, because you look at the things they do & read the intention.
So it's easy to anthropomorphize the sky, since it seems to bluster & calm in the same capricious pattern as everyone else. Die, it says, and then Prosper, it's not every the same, from day to day. You can't get your feet under you, plan a day or a week, because the chaos in the world is too, too much.
The lack of discernible pattern is my ongoing struggle. It is my conflict in life, to see that things happen without a pattern & then to be left to anticipate or correct for these patterns.
An old man might decide to love you, from out of nowhere, and lean on you to be there for him at all hours.
A foolish man might misuse the company's assets and ignore all warnings & then expect you to save him.
A reckless woman might determine that you are a balm against boredom & rely on you as such, despite other pledges.
Another may think that you're the cure against solitude, the waiting panacea, misjudging your own desires.
It's all so much, the world outside, and this is my struggle, that there's a world that won't be controlled but conspires for mastery. I'm sensitive to the flow of the winds & the strength of the weather & to the whims of the people that comprise my environment, their demands and their resentments.
The great crime of the world, our world is that these caprices & maelstroms are weathered properly only by the hedge of money. How crazy is that? That it's the rule of dollars that provides or declines structure & security. That these are the expensive options you have to opt in for, pay a premium to have. That's the feeling from within, that's what I see looking out.
I am more & more sensitive to this and other things as I get older. Not depressed or seasonally affected, that happens, but it's not this. This is the constant feeling of thwarted dreams. You know this one? Where your ambitions or hopes, the thing you want it's denied you? This usually lies in the labyrinth of human interaction, y'know - cause we all want another thing from another person, we all mash horns & old hands at the same time - trying for that thing that without even a cursory inspection seems to be the desirable thing. So you have your coworkers with their petty jealousies, their bizarre expectations, then you have lovers with their own scheming agendas - everyone wants something, it seems & the wanted thing is the thing to examine - what is it that motivates a person? You look close & see who they are, all the people you know, because you look at the things they do & read the intention.
So it's easy to anthropomorphize the sky, since it seems to bluster & calm in the same capricious pattern as everyone else. Die, it says, and then Prosper, it's not every the same, from day to day. You can't get your feet under you, plan a day or a week, because the chaos in the world is too, too much.
The lack of discernible pattern is my ongoing struggle. It is my conflict in life, to see that things happen without a pattern & then to be left to anticipate or correct for these patterns.
An old man might decide to love you, from out of nowhere, and lean on you to be there for him at all hours.
A foolish man might misuse the company's assets and ignore all warnings & then expect you to save him.
A reckless woman might determine that you are a balm against boredom & rely on you as such, despite other pledges.
Another may think that you're the cure against solitude, the waiting panacea, misjudging your own desires.
It's all so much, the world outside, and this is my struggle, that there's a world that won't be controlled but conspires for mastery. I'm sensitive to the flow of the winds & the strength of the weather & to the whims of the people that comprise my environment, their demands and their resentments.
The great crime of the world, our world is that these caprices & maelstroms are weathered properly only by the hedge of money. How crazy is that? That it's the rule of dollars that provides or declines structure & security. That these are the expensive options you have to opt in for, pay a premium to have. That's the feeling from within, that's what I see looking out.
