The Tale of Tales

now I know where it is

I held it inside. A terrible feeling of emptiness, time passed never to return, all things fading, the things that we find important really being rituals to keep fear at bay, in reality none of it mattering to “LIFE” — whatever that is. We’ll never know, because we’re too stupid. We fear because we don’t know. And we can’t. A terrible and sad chasm. Black and impenetrable.

A tale of tales, tales of tales.

This is what I am feeling, since a few days ago, as the holidays have been whirring around me. It’s like a kind of knowledge that is a death sentence. Our lives are dreams.

This incredible emptiness is so intense, I constantly feel the need to cry. And when I do, when I stop, it comes back again. Some endless funeral, some separation that can never be diminished.

Exhausted, I just want to sleep.

I can’t think of anything at all, except to block all sensation out.

Every Thursday

 

 

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