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Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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Parties make me lonely. Even when I'm* throwing them; how's that for irony? Actually, PEOPLE make me lonely. Isn't that just absolutely fucking ridiculous?

In my head, whereever I am and whatever I'm doing, several times a day the video feed changes to "god-cam", and zooms up above me; one tiny mote in a house, a city, a continent, a planet full of people. The whole picture is beautiful, but you can never see the whole picture at once. Zoomed in, there is so much empty air and dissonance.

I am finite, blood bone and sinew growing and decaying all at once. In seven years I will be another human being. In seventy, I will live only as a distant dream. In 700, I will only be a pattern in the chaotician's formula of everything that is, a sourceless meme. In 7000, I will be indistinguishable from any other factor responsible for anything.

And it's sad to think that; and somehow sweet and beautiful all the same, like a lover's scar, or a dying misconception. An epiphany in the gutter, as you cruise over wind and concrete, to the places that you're meant to go. Not a big epiphany... just one of the little ones that puts breath back in your lungs, and gives you something between a smile and a tear to hang onto for a second. Until it goes. Signal to noise.

And so it goes.


How are you?