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Published: November 18th 2008
Yes.
Pathetic.
I have nothing to say. Nothing worth saying. My words are utterly crushed by the weight of what they attempt to convey. 1 conscious being. Trapped. Solipsistic. But I go on...
My thoughts spiral out of a colorless void in the center of my spaceless being like thirsty bats from an abandoned mine. They flap around in the dusk and die in the encroaching darkness. Die just as desperate as when they emerged and then again, cycling repeatedly, fluttering in futility. Someday I will die, yet life in Death Valley continues for me. Quickly time is slipping away. Irretrievable time. The job grows more melodic. I find a rhythm to keep up with it, swallow my thoughts and act out of conditioning. I have a long way to go, but soon I will be up and running, going out on weekly 3-4 day trips into the soul crushing vastness, throwing darts at my 3.3 million acre dartboard, lugging 40 lbs of water into the middle of nowhere, pretending that life has meaning, pretending that anything has any meaning. I'm doing a good job at this, and so it does. For now.
Pretty pictures. Memories. Emptiness...
For a story on murder. Read the next entry.
steve
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Joe
non-member comment
Bleakness
There is something to be said it seems about finding the ultimate surrounding for self-exploration. Its always fascinating to push the mind and body and see what one can get away with. Sounds like the thrumming of life, maybe as expansive and quiet as it is, is syncing with your own motor. It almost seems inevitable that you will realize everything about yourself if you wanted to focus thought on it or not. Most people do not get that chance.