I think I am from some other era, that my fascination for The Knick has something to do with who I was some other time. Wrapping my head around time and space, souls in continuum, pulling on strings, warping realities into the present. We emerge from our future tainted by the past, working to right wrongs from days of yore, because why else do I want an old typewriter?
Souls never die, and for all the bullshit in this world, apparently mine went through a similar, just unreported saga of pain and despair. Humanity is always rolling on in a quest for more, more wealth, more pleasure, more distractions to shift focus from failure to artificial success. Sometimes time comes undone, and we bounce from a string and the tune changes. We hear something perfectly composed, see someone so beautiful, seconds unwind and transcend their predefined durations. In those moments, true crossroads are reached, and direction is mapped out by gut instinct.
Maybe it’s about paying attention, or avoiding one more slip and fall because dusting off isn’t as fun as tunneling deeper into hiding. I am a little bit guilty of some crimes, and fully convicted for others, but how I define sin these days wipes some of the slate clean. The dragon scorches the future while the succubus hides in the past to punish the present. I get this is one big riddle without my borders defined, but I’ve been no where truly new.
The shame-filled narcissist got exposed under the cover of death, but there is always something out of control when it deals with that, and when repetition only makes something worse and worse, trees always make a lot of noise when they fall, so don’t come at me with pointless musings, it’s time to find an approach a little less novel.
Today’s transgressions are tallied by breaches of integrity, in rejection of grace, in believing there isn’t a point to any of this life or the next.
There will always be those with greater intelligence, with more wit and cleverness, those who own one more exotic good than the man desperate to escape a societal shadow. There will always be a piece of flesh more flawless, sculpted and worldly beautiful than what lies next to you.
What will one be willing to do to shine in a desert, to drink from a mirage of value, or just flee the scene? More, more and it will never be enough, since life loses purpose when the lie is achieved. Some golf claps and jealous leers, we all fall down, and seldom choose to get up again and change direction.
A direction overgrown from lack of traffic. Ferraris don’t idle here, but men most certainly do. Stuck searching for clarity, but they can’t see the beauty all around thrm, instead looking for a GPS guided prayer to the quickest route over concrete.
It’s perspective that leaves me enlightened, that whatever I did way back when, I’m done paying for in splits of time. Selfless love, where flaws are intrinsically beautiful, where weakness provides immaculate chances to overcome. Learning never ends, growing more unimaginable by the lesson applied to life. That is something worth pursuing, because her beauty absorbs traits that will never stop blooming.
Until we meet, I’m alright, living ion my own two feet, walking wide-eyed and in wonder of all this mystery deemed life.