(no subject)
KEY
nick gauthier (regular)
mike henderson (italic)
To/from ourselves:
It isn't such a worthless, foolish attempt as the others that preceded it. They have all met their time, and have each ended as a series of short-lived breaths. They had barely escaped the womb, the lips, the teeth, the hatch; a small series that, more often than not, fails to graduate from the process of birth. But, we must assure ourselves that an attempt, worthless and foolish or not, is no match for the actual action, the actual doing.
The process that we run ourselves through; an extreme makeover for our motives, our values and our personalities, whatever they may be, is excruciatingly obvious. It's a process. It's a hopeless attempt to grasp onto whatever bits of ourselves may be left, but it's the wrong attempt and it's the wrong process.
Where have we gone?
Being true to ourselves?
Caring for others?
Caring for ourselves?
We pray for the day we will be fixed, but it will never happen, because all we do is pray.
Nothing more, nothing less.
We're so insignificant, when you really think about it.
Pioneers; yet to learn. And still we laugh through eyes of primitive knowledge, aside our misinterpretation. Know that all we have seen here is replica, upon replica dive into the shallowest of water.
Fact: We will all(as one). Reinvent the wheel to run ourselves over, and over.
Pioneers we could be; yet failures as well, who will never set sail into the vast nature of knowledge. "Pioneers" implies a sense of willingness to achieve, to learn, to handle; to procreate thoughts through analysis and understanding, and then to use them.
No, we are not pioneers as much as we are wallflowers, who will never know the true satisfaction of understanding. Misinterpret, as we must, but we also sob uncontrollably through the eyes of our goals; with our hands outstretched toward them, but still not quite long enough to reach them on our own. Our reach is spread to its maximum, but it won't get us anywhere.
And why not?
Because we are not willing to jump, if you will; to leap forward to gain the extra height and distance necessary to accomplish.
No, we are not pioneers; we don't want to learn. We don't want to work and we don't want to experience. We just want to do and do and do, without any consequence, yet also without any reward. We have only seen replica, and we are only replica.
Our dive is an insignificant one. As hastily executed as it is painful, we still repeat and repeat. It is insignificant; for what is one dive out of billions and billions of dives? It is not the dive that is important, mind you. It's the splash, the impact that we all make together as one dive, that could possibly mean anything at all. But as of now, we all plummet in a scattered mess, with no pattern whatsoever.
It's correct that you say we run ourselves over and over, but if we really want to reinvent and re-establish ourselves for the better, we would synchronize ourselves. We would all splash as one splash and make the change together. The fact of the matter is that we won't even attempt it(as one).
We won't synchronize. We are all caught up in "doing and doing and doing," without any reference to "learning and trying and succeeding." We have no experience with "waiting and waiting and waiting," because all we want to do is go, go, go. But, we can't.
Either way, if it is just a replica dive, or a test dive if you will, what invention could we have possibly created?
We've created garbage, filler, waste, fads and nothing out of what we should be holding dearest to us. We've created this black hole with our selves, our weaknesses, our strengths, our emotions, our failures and our triumphs. We've turned our novelties into blank pages. We keep falling, flailing, sifting through this utopia of wax and concrete. We've constructed it with our own hands. A replica of all the success we desire, without all of the trial and experience we need.
We've created nothing.
We learn nothing.
In response to the soft voice that crawls itself up our sleeves, whispering gently into our ears what we need to do to survive...
"We are nothing."
I concur whole heartedly
Replica: a struggle; our enternal war.
hasteful, misusive, rather
the common folk found between the cracks in our streets
indifference
As you said.. 'we are nothing' soley a disposal of all thats holy.
i couldnt agree with you more
simplicity is bliss
I am relieved that we agree, although it is unfortunate to be agreeing upon. Still, at least you and I both, along with countless others, realize there is a massive problem at hand.
The "replica" may pose as a relief to the struggle, but I believe that struggle is the one true dispenser of meaning in this life. Our internal wars are what we essentially live to fight. When one war is fought, a new one begins; repeat and repeat. It is only on the day our battle scars strip us too thin and too weary that we end our wars.
This is not where the cycle ends. When our wars come to close, a new generation picks them up and fights, more or less, for the same ideals that we once fought for, although more than likely skewed out of proportion.
We are mice in a running wheel; we will mindlessly run and run, without going anywhere. Then, we die and fade and shrivel and become a part of the world; a part of the obstacle that once faced us. "If you can't beat them, join them." But, there are always those who refuse to "join them," and in this case, they are the "other mice," the other people who will take our place and mindlessly run and run, where we once ran, when we are long gone.
It is a run, and it is hasteful. Sometimes a healthy, slow-paced jog or even a walk could make good use, but we fail to make use of it for ourselves. In essence, it is misuse, a process that you and I both know and will continue to know for the duration of our existence.
We are Behemoth-like in comparison to the commonfolk in the cracks of our streetways and sidewalks. We have once been misused, so we will continue where our predecessors left off. And we will misuse also.
As we trot our way through the streets, we hear voices below us; high, shrill voices, that cry out for us to hesitate a mere second before putting one foot down, then the other, the the other again. But, we still place them back on the ground, crushing those below us, as we feel it is too much discomfort to spare them and hold our feet up for one more second.
It is as indifferent as it is unholy to dispose of those that came before us, for we were once those tiny voices begging those feet not to come down upon us; but, they mercied us. Why do our feet step down? Why can we not go through one second of discomfort and waiting to spare a generation of thoughts yet to be birthed?
We are selfish; it's simple.
As simple as it is complex, we lose and they lose.
We only win when we do it for ourselves.
Until then, we make with what we have.