tired.

It’s the closest thing to hell. Like being fed to it. As if in a dream, the nearest neighbor of your subconscious entangled with a concept, an object. They made it tangible.

I questioned the ‘character costume’, and they just gave up. Mentioned efficiency. That kind of efficiency - an imbalanced transaction. That requires the system to be well defined. Identity is not so - it’s its own structure, something which can require a lifetime of waking hours of dedication in order to reach a level which satisfies others. Extremely easy to get lost in. No path back to a more unified understanding - it takes just as much time to develop that.

They state : “I just don’t get it”. It’s an attachment to a statement which appears true and excuses the node who states it from any more expenditure of mental effort. Holistic summary of a complex system, backed up with an assertion : “efficiency”. Efficiency on part of the person making the assertion. From my understanding, the statement actually points to a system of socially verified truth by which behaviour is judged to be positive or negative based on the attachments of the node within the system.

The reasoning behind the statement, in my estimation, is the desire to expend effort within the confines of the system, the place where the node feels most comfortable, a predefined map of attachments and concepts. You understand it, and you will not be able to avoid it yourself. You’ll take yourself apart. Some information, when validated, will take you so far away from yourself you’ll be scared to look in the mirror. You’ll be a lie, dressing yourself up. A dolly for your peers. You could have just asked.

You might conclude you’d happily be one. I’d suggest you don’t really understand the problem. As far as carriers of emotion go, I’d suggest attitude is an inhibitor. A set of rules which defend themselves, as opposed to the core of your being - they lay on top of you, detached. Lost. A program guiding you through a universe of endless possibility. Immune system gone haywire, defending itself from evidence to the contrary. The strategy is to continue pummeling with insults. Aphids biting the neck.

Take a feeling. Filter it through teeming machinery in space. Copy machines. Some order. Mostly chaos. Language. Leads you to a word. The song behind is a lullaby. Pitchbending children interrupting your performance. Modulation. A jump. Gravity. Hemisphere. This is all a song. Sight reading. Sheet music. 2 dimensional. And a black hole where possibility lies in patience. Lays in wait. Birdys frictionless reading, inverse eyes skipping over the edges of a universe. Morse code coupled with high frequency carrier. I wear a wedding dress, skipping over the diagonals and rotations and translations. Reading the code I have time to read. Feeding a potential reality. I’m potentially a scumbag. Rebuilt from crystals projected through time, deep ether, fear I’m deaf or blind to. Photons caught in baskets. Depth. Or fraying at the ends.

In moderation.