Maia, never give up please. I am a metaphor myself, a chaotic and sightless metaphor. But perhaps that at another time
When I first got here, i proposed a dialogue like Dostoevsky’s Letters from Underground, where
unseen people can write things,things no one else interested may not want to partake
I am jumping around I know, sometimes ready to
quit as well, but I feel that I am not ready to give up ,because that is my style, my heartache, , to be forever short sighted, alone.
I am writing this to You, because the listlessness
enveloping me feels the desperation?
manifested,but if I may share with You the conviction that such state gives a one the power of selfhood which no one in that position can come to
understand, an almost mystical sense arising out of the view of a near senseless, selfless vision, then You may come to understand the importance that the living, written word may
come to be overvalued and obsessed over.
No, sex is only a necessity, a basic function which ultimately proves disappointing,if other more hidden
and strange things cannot be alluded with it.The
chaos and confusion becomes tamed, if the purposes of it, unbearing,mystifying, reveals the truth, deep within ,embarrassingly hidden, bringing to the fore, the strange desire to merge with, in to the pack.
Everyone has it, unbeknownst to some, routinely and sadly to others, not treatable, with a huge NO EXIT
sign looming red,where the darkness envelopes all
but the tiniest spark coming from some far distance.
Maia, was it not someone very similar phonetically an
inspiration Gala to Dali, for had she been not, he
would have found nodream worth to live by? HOPE against hope, even if such a person may come along, which I know happens almost every day for people,
unrecognized but they wanting the ideal,the unseen
hidden in the depth,looking back at , showing the dream’s expurgation to be contrary to the maintenance of its illusion.
It is only that, that some may live for, but that is not to say, that it does not a presence… For lack of it, it
translates merely into chimera, a biological set of
events following a predictable course of well foreseeable trajectories intersecting ahead, in a haze,both exhilarating and terrifying.
No, there can never, ever be an exit.