“Maybe, if I do not like all people, then I do not like myself.”

 

The armies inside of him, those responsible for hunting down and obliterating illnesses, those sent to mend up wounds, those that are the traffic cops in the veins capillaries arteries organs and elsewhere, keeping everything inside the body moving, those responsible for opening the valves at the exit points to allow piss spit shit sweat semen snot and all other waste out of the vessel, these armies were immediately sent to this web to douse the surrounding area where these two powerful original thoughts were sitting perfectly aligned facing off for the title of soul-domination with the powder of focused ignorance so that no other thought could stick any where around them for quite some time.  These two needed to stay uninterrupted and the army kept the millions of other thoughts zipping along.

Ego:  I do not like others

Logic: I do not like myself

Stubbornness:  People are pointless

Instinct:

 

His pen hovered above the page after writing that last word because his instinct was not in line with the pattern of his logic, with what he had been thinking.  His instinct was that people did not matter, he did not matter.  But, life is gray area, not black and white.  People, and himself, did not matter in a yin-yang respect, a thought that was both positive and negative, therefore allowing its truth to not lie on either side of the positive/negative spectrum but right in that beautiful middle gray area.

 

“It doesn’t matter because we can neither help nor hinder the earth.”

 

He looked over and saw that Made In America sticker that got him on this crazy journey this morning and it began to grow, distracting him. Right then, the guy next to him, a different identical man to the tv guys, yammering loudly about having figured out the code of balance between the financial logic of love and the itinerary of life-long passion, distracted him;  His own face began itching and sneezing, distracting him; His own back tightening, he drank coffee and felt his right kidney hardening with each sip, distracting him.

 

They were all ingredients in a crucible of conflicting truths:  Nothing matters because we are here to exist…So…Destroying ourselves matters as much as saving ourselves…So…

 

And he noticed that the sticker was growing bigger still.  A group of high-pitched Westchester housewives barged through the door cackling, announcing their self-importance; The machines all turned on, blending cooling heating chopping…all distracting him again.

 

The truths continued in his mind, though:  We must stay busy, and we are given logic, skills, creativity…

 

And that is when it occurred to him.  He looked up while searching for the exact word to describe all of these feelings that had just occurred and noticed the stretched-painted-skin-suits squealing and praising each other and the word hurtled through the powdered web inside his soul, veered off course and smashed squarely into the two dichotic fixtures of his existential dilemma…

 

“Worth!!!  We all want to believe we are worth something; That we are here, that we have been given life and everything in it in order to fulfill a worth.  But, we don’t have control, therefore we have no worth to fulfill.  The fact that we exist IS our worth.  The work has been done in order to get us born.  We are necessary, but no more or less so than a blade of grass or a gnat in a jungle.  Perhaps I do not like all people and therefore myself because they and I are always trying to find a worth for our lives that satisfies our egos rather than just be what the world and all of existence needs…Simply for us to exist so we may die so we may feed and fulfill our worth to life itself.

 

 

 

to be con’t

 

 

 

 

 

af

 

 

 

 

(written with pen on paper)