Stupidity Hole

Alright here we go. Racing against the clock once more. Beating the life out of my keyboard. Treating it awfully. Need to treat it better. Need to write faster.

I’m also racing music at the moment. Not much time left, can do it, might do it. Will see if actually do do it. No idea. No way to tell as of yet. Just need to keep on writing.

I think that, in a lot of ways I am lucky that I can sit here and write whilst trying to finish writing before a couple of songs finish. I am lucky that I get to sit here and do this. There are plenty who aren’t and I have to wonder as to how much better things would be if we just looked after each other and didn’t blame people for circumstances beyond their control. Things would be great, wouldn’t they?

Or maybe they wouldn’t because someone would be slightly less rich than they were before. Who could really carry the burden of that kind of horror? The world may never know.

Sometimes I have thoughts that are worth writing down, but by the time I get to a point where I can, they have floated away. They have left me. I am left thoughtless, and I have become a husk. A shell. A receptacle of nothingness. That isn’t the best way to be, of course, but there are also worse ways to be. I’m not complaining.

I can see a body of water. It is small and it is still, but it is also large. There is a lot of water in it, but its body is small. It takes up not much space, but it also does. It is heavy and light and all sorts of things, and there are plenty of ways to approach it. It is still, or at least it appears still enough. Maybe it’s not still at all, and it is just where I am sitting that makes it look still.

Plants gently sway in the breeze. They move back and forth, lazily. They move slowly and they do not change. They keep on going on their cycle, some moving faster than others, but most are lazy. And there is variance in them. There is variance in how they appear, the kind of leaves they have, everything. But they sway as they sway, and breeze is suggested, Breeze is there, but it doesn’t seem to be there at all. It is almost as though all is quiet and everything is held in a spot, just going through the last bits of shaking before they stop entirely.

I wonder to the effect a desk can have on old injuries. I wonder how a desk might cause things to flare up, settle down… all of those things. I wonder about the shape of the next desk that I will claim as mine, and if it will be the right kind of height that I need, and if that all really matters. Surely the chair is more important, but the desk has to play a part in it all.

There are various sounds, and few of them are insects. There is music playing from my speakers, and there is the sound of water flowing somewhere nearby, but other than that, almost all is silent. Almost all is quiet. I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m sure that if I stepped outside, I’d hear some things. In here, it seems that there is no motion outside. Or rather, the movement and density of insect populations are both things that are quite low, and this saddens me as there’s so much out there worth seeing. There is so much out there worth hearing, and getting more greenery and habitat established should lead to more insect activity. It should lead to a richer world. So why aren’t we doing enough about it?

Clouds have consumed the sky, and indeed the sky is a mix of whites and grays, and it seems to almost be flattened depth. It seems to just be a thick wall covering everything, enclosing everything, trapping things in, keeping things out. It seems to have everything stop there, and nothing exists beyond it, and it moves, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t change and it continually changes, and everything goes on as it was and will be, and that’s how it is. That’s how it has to be.

There is a bright light coming in from outside into this room, and it is bright but it is dull. The shadows it creates are soft, seemingly vague at the edges. Spread out and focused at the same time. Everything in this space feels more homely, more relaxed, and perhaps quaint. Small. Lacking in the fantastic, and that’s nice. That’s nice to have right now, and it’s nice to see how the light is creating these pockets of shadow, almost like islands. Ideas of shapes creating new forms.

I hope that sooner, rather than later, we turn ourselves around. I hope that something comes out of all of this and we start appreciating nature more often than we do, and I hope that we take better care of ourselves and also each other. No one needs all the money in the world, and I doubt anyone needs to be richer than anyone else. It’s a shame to see how indifferent we are to each other. No one gets out alive, and no one deserves to be treated like shit. If we considered each other more and if we considered the environment more, then I’m sure things would genuinely improve, because maybe we’d be more willing to take action and stop defending people doing awful things out there. Maybe we’d actually get somewhere and show that, yes, we can be a strong society that does look after each other and works toward a better tomorrow. But who knows these days. Who knows how things will change in the coming years.

The time it took to write one thousand words: 13:11:47

This one I wrote yesterday, and it was written whilst incredibly tired. Not a good way to be as it made this bit of writing a struggle. There was no aim, but I had to think hard about what I was doing and that wasn’t good.

Written in Killara.