reprisal and the frustration of unrequited success ache within the soles of my feet, my ankles are swollen and my toes are blistered. there can be no ownership in such a world as this. nothing is mine.
a future will rise next week, a yearly fixture. it has been regularly promoted and invested upon, i have told of it before. i even left once. it sings its own name, it is an indicator of nothing other than a desire to indicate, a statement of statement of statement. it is an enabler, fecund and sure, a geographical fix that roots and ties. it’s everything i never wanted, but i feel better for the chance to neglect it. it is easier to make a decision negatively than positively. but what if you have nothing to negate, what if your question makes no sense?
rejection would leave me rejected.
i am drawing up the blueprints of purpose, fully aware of their false economy. the creation of living space in which success is an inevitability, is itself a necessity. the truly depressed man creates a house in which failure is enviable as the product, the house’s highest form, an expression of personality where personality is non-existent.
i build stories like houses, but rarely live in them. i was in there for ten minutes. they had already decided, but my knowledge is yet to be determined.
