An Arrow Into SPacE,

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.

A lot. Like everyone else.

I think genuinely the majority of us are lost. It is those few, that harness obsession to their advantage that propel forward. Their ability to ignore the dark, what lingers outside of their sight, is what is most powerful.

I don’t mean forward in popularity, wealth or admiration. Forward in terms of change.

Most of us want to move by being propelled by our own intentions, not through direction and acceptance. You can call it “control”, but it begins to sound more animalistic and behavioral than what I mean.

Happiness has become a word for “cure”, like there is a settling point and a proper end in that state. I’m not proposing happiness. I never desired happiness; I thought of happiness as a state we pass through like laughter or comfort. I’m glad to have it when I do, but it is something I don’t treasure as the highest existence.

Instead I treasure two very simple things that never seem to fade or weaken. Passion and ambition.

My ambition has never changed, or altered. It is something I cannot cloak like some others can, where the light dims by placing other choices as a blanket over it.

My passion has however become confused. The sheer size of fields emerging, shifting, separating and compiling is greed placed in paralysis. Making that choice is incredible to me, how others find and KNOW where they want to place their obsession. Life becomes incredibly vivid and real at that point. It is all I desire and all I have ever desired.

Most people have obsessions they want to follow, but choose not to since their ambition is so easy to cloak with other experiences. The unilateral, one track mind, that propels without wobble finds change. The space for change is infinite and open from all directions, yet somehow these few people see their trajectory through the passage of time like a single frame. They see their current point in space and see exactly where that last point is.

I can’t expect movement forward in a multitude of directions; I can’t expect my ambition to slow at any point, but yet I have zero trajectory.

Instead I’m left with internal ignition and blazing; churning in diagonal curves against myself. Direction grinding against direction, sparking from the circle of chaos. Ambition burning bright, but passion in a rage, confused and blurry.

It’s a pissed life; and I doubt I am too alone in it. The only anomaly I am to everyone else is that my eyes are wide open.

 

 

 

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