Words, again.

This death is a slow one, this death is friction.


There is a wall, made of language and logic and reasoning that I cannot penetrate. I cannot tell what the rules are beyond this wall, I cannot tell how it is that what I do is always so improper, so problematic.

I stumble and fall time and time again, thinking that what I am doing is correct. Appropriate. Just. In this, I cannot help thinking that I live alone.

I bloody myself via action and inaction, trying to make it to the other side through sheer will — but stone is stronger than flesh, and every scar is forever.

I hear them, speaking to me through the skin. They whisper secrets and truth in another tongue, and I cannot make myself understand.


All things are a process; on a long enough timescale, the probability of any action will approach certainty.

The process of life will always resolve itself; the process of learning has no guaranteed resolution.

There is no comfort here.

The only things that seem real are half a lifetime away.

2 thoughts on “Words, again.

  1. There is comfort here, Jai… But it’s that which you make for yourself, that which you allow yourself to cherish that creates the feeling of “Home and Hearth” that we all blindly seek out.

    Separateness is not caused, it IS. It exists in all of us, and even that is something to be embraced and cherished. It can make everything seem so very far away, but, if in your aloneness, your solitude of spirit, you can live within every moment without expectation, you often find that the very thing you think you lack, the things you feel are a mystery, are integral parts of you.

    Be quiet within yourself. You will see that you have had everything you needed all along.

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