stopwatch counting the seconds

i feel like i’m running out of time, but i don’t yet understand my purpose. there’s a stopwatch counting the seconds; each time i gaze over at its total, i’m reminded of all i haven’t done. this should be motivation, but once in a while it converts to defeat.

one allure of lyrics is they’re an open space to complain. talking about hardships in a traditional format, like this one, seems petty. however, in a journal, an outpouring of emotions expanded to the size of a universe seems fitting. possibly, this divide is established in the public versus private domain, for i know this blog will be published, but many raps go unnoticed.

would content, speaking of the satisfactory calm, be a hungry fish if i stopped stuffing worms down its gills? i’ll expect relief from accomplishment, but all it creates is excitement and correction.

existence is a fluid process; i shouldn’t expect breaks from variance like i do for myself. certainly, the action is under my control, but the battery isn’t. the mechanical ticking is wound up by an exterior hand. i await tension, then release with strained patience.

i wake up driven to work, not to life. positive experiences are groups assembling the potted network of my forest. why do i pursue activities outside of their soil? placed in my own universe, i’m performing a musical where i, diligently, sing soprano, deliver romantic lines, dance to choreography, and clap fervently. there’s a blockbuster production rolling in my head; the pressure to carry the film is palpable.

this could offer a rational explanation as to why i enjoy meditation. i’m afforded an opportunity to let go of progress.

would you split your life in half to extend it to double its original length? inversely, i’d triple up my life like an impossible burger tower, and shorten it to the extent of our musical prophets. i’m smiling entertaining the idea that Hendrix, Peep, X, and Miller all made this deal. they’d soak their three sponges, fully aware of the receding water level, and snicker at the secret.

these deaths were unplanned, yes, but we’re consoled by their fervent creations. how does an unpopulated settlement deal with the destruction of someone without a body of work? one solution is to chalk it up to potential. a second response would be an identification of the first negative on their slope; decisiveness is simpler for a grasping mind than folding gradients.

many have been lost, many found, many deserted, many rescued, many doomed, many resurrected, many dead, and many alive. flip the pairs and you’ll see the truth of the matter. the negatives are our fate, while the positives are balloons spitting out air, mocking serious contention.

decisions are heavy in thought, but light in action. our mind accumulates waste like a snowplow. our body sheds those weightless ions. the answer to my question is irrelevant (like any truth).

if i’m hoping to gain self-appreciation, no stream of consciousness will lead me there.

but interaction with a cosmos outside of my own will. isn’t that the definition of nirvana?

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: