The difference five months makes. This is the trail that runs next to the house.
Last time on this blog, the area was covered in snow; now, it’s green with vegetation. Or, as one commenter put it: lush. This Monday, I was a bit annoyed with the stagnation in the house— being unable to deal with the squirrel that’s in our roof, for one; I stormed out.
I soon returned to grab the iPhone to take some pictures of the trail for the day.
Time has run quickly this summer. The whole year has moved so fast, especially the last four months. Something of it being emotionally short for me… Fewer unique memories to link the timeline together, and less interaction overall.
On the second Wednesday this month, WordPress notified me with that little trophy, that this blog has been up for four years. Which made it all the more ridiculous when I saw that the blog had gotten zero views in 48 hours. …It reminds me of the potential quantity over quality of adding posts just for the sake of the Congratulations, you hit another 100 milestone. (This blog has also reached 400 in count, by the way. 😉 )
So… zero. And not the first time. …Write “like no one is reading,” indeed. Okay, enough blog navel-gazing.
2016 is quite a different year— much different. Sometimes it has been in my face this year how messy real life is. And I’m not talking merely of people baring their souls without makeup or “graphic content.” I’ve seen some the limits of the world at large and small, and what it is to be human, and how natural it is. Some of it’s beautiful. But it is all very, very messy.
Still, I don’t have nearly enough of the picture. We’re all limited by our perceptions… But, for me— as the last time I’ve been off the property was maybe two months ago— the view is like impressions from afar.. I practically missed all of 2016.
That isn’t to say I’m alone in the practice of being absent. There are times I’ve gone to twitter and found the most recent posting was several months ago… Life goes on. But it hits me, being so out of the loop, and so out of life.
I used to write things down. I used to get up, and live. I used to dream.
This year, I feel broken. I put too much weight on being useful, and people have gone silent. I’m so dependent. I tried to get back into the loop— or “re-loop,” but it feels futile. There isn’t much ‘relating,’ and not much to say on my end because nothing much is happening on my end. And now it’s the 20th of August.
Time could blur in 2012, but still there was life. Notable things happened in 2012. Success may have been a pipe dream, but there was life. Now I can’t help but think everything is dying. …Technically, I’d be right in a way— none of us are immortal. We are born; we grow, peak, surrender and die. But the culture… not looking good.
I miss sleep… proper sleep. I’m forgetting things like never before— missing count of the passes in my walks, distracted by the “talks” in my head… ruminating, probably suppressing serious thought and memory for a bit of emotional comfort. …Of course, I can’t help but feel things that bring a smile to my face or heart when I think about one person in particular— whose appearance entering the year made 2016 unique. …And now she’s even farther away, geographically… going silent again, where I begin to think about what might have happened… trying not to worry. She’s her own person, but… it can be hard to let go of someone you love.
Another slow day in a slow year, and I find myself rereading… backlogged emails on missed social media and old messages from a deleted account… emojis, broken pictures and the truncated text of email notifications. And despite supposed good times, my broken contributions remind me of how empty and damaged I am as a person. That isn’t at all to say the other is ‘perfect.’ Everyone lies— even your friends, at least to be nice. …Feeling used doesn’t feel nice. (Hypothetically speaking.)
…It’s been four years, and I still don’t quite have a voice. So I kind of blew up, the first Saturday of August. No use pretending things are alright.
Some connections are all but gone, replaced with holes dug in not speaking up. Trying not to harm or offend, or sound self-absorbed, the word count can go up significantly… cut down to virtual grunts… “Distractions” deleted, questions left unasked, and conversations are left in an awkward position. Things just left there. It’s awful. It can even feel as if devaluing the other person, when the purpose was to protect or respect them. Of course, part of editing is getting rid of inaccurate statements… which makes me sound like a liar that I even typed the words in the first place.
Add the perception of absence when someone is unable to speak (properly)… One or both people assume that they aren’t there or are uninterested… it can feel like a communication death spiral— where the connection is perpetually lost.
Silence really can be like a cancer. I never had anyone to talk to— not really— in-depth and uncensored… which makes my ‘experience’ easily overwhelming. That’s why I’m damaged, ultimately. An example of someone who wasn’t lucky enough to have people in his life, friendly or not. Forget loneliness— the absence of others can make you feel worthless.
…It works both ways, of course. I’m not special. I’ve come across people that have found themselves “unworthy” or “dying inside.” I can empathize, first hand. You know you can talk to me, I would think. But I say nothing, unable to articulate “the right words.” Would it benefit him if I spoke up?She turned down talking to me before; why would she talk now? …I’m too toxic. I’m too immature. I keep to myself, partly out of “respect.”
…Anyway. It’s been four years on WordPress. I don’t even want to begin to think about another four… so much backlog of words. I’m surprised I’ve survived this far. 😉
…And to anyone reading this who feels horribly alone: you can talk to me.
NO use for a user.
In a world less accountable, more “accidental.”
Both simple and complicated, more nonsensical.
Coated in armor and lies.
Heads that spin. Racked in debt.
“Once upon a time more advanced than now.”
But advanced in decay.
The artificial nightmare.
Where speech is underrated.
Through technology, connected.
…But only with each other.
Public, but really private.
With fewer reflections, and more complications.
With fewer abstractions, and more distractions.
I am awestruck— the stupidity of the culture.
No doubt, I’m jutted but stuck with it.
(Okay, so they edit “Jaywalking” to make every New Yorker look dumb.)
A culture growing.
One that, on the surface, ‘mislearns’ the basics.
And one that finds difficulty with those that have them.
“Traditional,” “old fashioned,” “old-timey,” a dinosaur.
—Of what, ten years ago?
Somehow, I’m described, living a “private life.”
Why, because I don’t make absolutely everything public?
No, it’s because I don’t have the resources to spark a conversation.
I had the email address up for some time, but… nada.
(Not counting Spam.)
So I guess email is “old-timey.” Add another “follower” that will fade out relatively quickly.
And if not dubbed a dinosaur, then an outcast.
Where opportunism thrives.
Where misunderstandings are exploited.
(Needless to say, I don’t like Curb Your Enthusiasm.)
But in all walks of life one’s beliefs are tested.
But usually not my own…
One unable to speak here must be considered a “loner.”
(With no questions asked of the environment.)
One frustrated must then be called a “spiteful loner.”
(“What a boner.”)
Without resistance, the world can never improve on its own.
It cuts itself from reality even further.
“Just another brick in the wall,” one must be.
With all the awful expressions to keep you moving in line. Life hands you lemons, but…
“You can’t live off lemonade!!!”
No matter, they say, “nothing to see here.”
Pieces of evidence the inept government doesn’t want you to see.
And so, less than half the public believe in things that have actually happened.