that truly is the playbook, the question is what you want
the question actually is what you don’t really want, which is to have to say this all again
vomit up the whole soul, admit the longing, keep embarrassing yourself for the hope of money, keep listening to the voice, doing your job, being that weirdo you promised them to be, learning how your obedience and motivation works: fear of punishment, polishing of the demon, fear of the voice yet wanting to be graded; wanting to be integrated into the whole and being unable to do it yourself so to survive you must ask for help and it’s no longer cute it’s sad you’re old but we know age is nothing and we’re all the same age inside so you pivot to nonsense to save you before the next emergency/guillotine seeks you out, but everyone is kind, the imagined disaster didn’t come to pass, it’s simpler: just be good, just help, just be useful, lol, it really is that simple, no need for tears ~ of course we could tear apart corporations and argue for justice but only do it if it’s fun, the phones are jammed and hunger’s comin’ up and the right thing is unfolding, there’s proof, plenty of proof and pudding to go around, people are kind, the only disaster is there is no disaster and now all our catastrophizing has to find a new form, and then we’ll have to face why doing it isn’t enough, why we need recognition, so the monster adult must study their craving and learn to prefer silence instead; death usually takes care of this—time makes more converts than reason
anyway, more feverish remembering and dreaming which everyone younger has covered better than I/we do (see! I’m still divided! I need help! I know what would fill this void: marriage, mortgage, employment; a contract to sign with my life then I react about not fulfilling well enough, joining the vast computer choir of anxiety addicts who love rushing around trying to be good enough, bleeding a picture backlog they hope is seen ~ maybe I just don’t have a real enough life and I should try that for a while, and this can be my last transmission, my last being alone trying to be loved, paid, helped, supported; if only I’d ask, if only I was ready and could receive! God! Another therapy session! I am so mad I want to curse! But then what happens? What are you angry at? Who? Specifically? Ha; I just want to be held down. Well, try dating apps! There’s always a solution to an open ache; a medical solution, a software solution, a food solution; being healed…heal others…go away, do anything else, remember you can’t make a mistake. “But why am I so away? And what to do with this awakeness?” Ah (a father’s voice, because we can’t quit fathers, because we’re made of one, all of us—OK, I know what to do: eat and keep going and let this day pass away, and learn to take numbers a little less seriously; keep going, sure; togetherness is all there is, another name in the hat, the hope of the draw; yes, yes, we love magic—we love to believe something will change; the aged know nothing changes, people remain stingy and stuck in their ways, the grooves; change is possible still though and it probably will happen. So let go of the controls and let the plane fly itself; breathe out, let hunger be your guide
