it’s really long, life. I mean, it takes a while. And some things you do over and over again, as though you hadn’t done them yet each time, even though you have.
And the clouds.
And the roads.
And the clocks and the ticking, and you walk, and you go on past, and you listen, and you stop listening, and you say, and you speak, and you try, and you try not to try, and you want, and you want to wonder, and you wonder, and you writhe, and you heal, and you hear, and you hew, and you drive, and you drink, and you’d rather, and you know in the end that no matter what and no matter how many open doorways, ajar windows, breezes blowing through, Corona bottles on wire mesh tables, beach sand, little hut with “respect” painted on the doorway, you aren’t going anywhere you aren’t going anywhere you aren’t going anywhere you aren’t going anywhere.
You live inside you.
You live inside your head, inside your heart, inside your soul.
It is yours, your palace, your duneon, your today, your tomorrow, your eulogy.
That is the way it is, the way it has been, the way it will be, it was decreed before you were here, it was decided before you knew.
There is nothing else.
And it is.