It's 3:33

Well, I just saw "The Marvels" and very much enjoyed the post-credits scene to that one. (More on that, including emotionally, another time.)

However, on the whole, I am still in the same place that I have always been: knowing there is better for me, and always being too uninspired to track down a new job while holding my present one, being one of an infinite amount of "average joes" out there (and "average josephines", I suppose?), to now having no money to my name and no response from unemployment assistance for the time being (I forgot the impact of the exact same setbacks with the exact same company the last time), and what have you.

Be it choices I have made, and simply the matters of the circumstances I have grown and matured out of having a life-reaching influence, I have the strength to give, and no one there for me to barter with.

So its a sob story.

So, its my personal reality.

All kinds of factors mixing together to create one troubling existence.

Sure, there are plenty that have it FAR worse than me. Feel free to bring it up to me. Common sense already tells me that.

Children are far too coddled in this great fantasy that, don't get me wrong, I truly wish I could give them forever--at least, as long and as freely as they would be willing to accept it.

What the hell kind of a difference does goodness make when everything will turn to garbage again eventually?

Nevertheless, the cycle of prosperity will come again.

But...it is a cycle.

Not so bad when you are in it.

But outside it...

Caught in its eye...

It's too much where there's not enough.

So I am taking one step forward again. One blind step forward, into waters which echo forth scant ripples. Ripples of influence, yes. But barebones in quantity.

The question becomes at times: do I follow such a path because I am lazy, or because my desire truly longs to thrive in this darkness?

Has nobody--on a significant scale--over these years gotten ANYTHING out of wback hat I have day in and day out put on to the table?

Has the obvious doom of my hearing amounted to nothing more than the despair of eventually not being able to hear the voices of my young family as they grow, and age, and mature?

Where the hell is the justice?

Yes, it is a grapple with the Universe. It is a grapple with our own frigid, outwardly instilled reality. It is a testament to passion and desire and all of those things that fill the spaces in between, and which shine like stars upon the canvas of the future daily affairs of dream and idyllic crystallization.

It makes it worse when the brain is in the way. When the soul cannot dispense its tethers through the combatants of breath which, at every turn, seek to demand PURPOSE, PURPOSE, PURPOSE.

The demand of the body, the demand of the crashing meta-intellect, the demand of the consciousness which becomes our only flawless picture of meaning and fulfillment.

For to dream is to build within, but to awaken from slumber is to dive forth once more.

It is painful to know that those things which we hold so dear are anchored, above all else, by the slumber which so succinctly, and so sweetly, beckons us forth back into the darkness of sanctity; of freedom; of disconnect from this tumultuous and unforgiving world which we, as a people--as a consciousness--have imposed on ourselves, and on one another.