I've got nothing

The words you see now are coming from a will squeezed of any sap of merit I can manage. I honestly have no internal drive to pursue the things that I feel I could work to contribute to society in exchange for some "justified" peace. I think part of the problem is seeing so many outlets fulfilled and seeing the fruits of so many contributors that its like anything I would have to share or add has already done before. And when barely anyone listens, then what the hell is the point?

I just don't see what it takes to get some answers around here.

I can't concentrate, and even when I have the free time to do so, I can't do it. My whole life thus far it seems has been some blind internal or hybrid struggle where I know what could work for me but lack any sort of inside push to drive me to make it happen. People keep suggesting I talk to someone, but I've already played with that some, and I would just feel bad for leaving them behind, anyway, and be more apt to stay. Plus, its a waste of money--money I'd rather spend on coffee and just walking around "aimlessly".

I don't know how anyone can have a clear head in this world--if my own mental state of affairs is anything to go toe to toe with that of the true populace. It certainly has been timidity and fear and the like which have tainted my actions. I would be out and apt to do so much more if I could rely on society to have the confidence not to lash out and just to give things a temporary, shared space for assessment.

I'm in despair for a dying world, in part. My world. For the hunger of advancements and the gold it casts aside. I miss the old game systems, and our old get-togethers, and the ways of thinking and being that were me and my being for so long.

But the aesthetic is not so empty. Because the mechanics of business have always been there. The turbulence below the calm remains unchanged. Even as the faces change, that which they harbor has shifted barely a whit.

New dreams, and new sorrows: they are coming; they are going.

There is nothing left but cost. All the cost of propagation, and of repairing the lack of simulation with the ingesting of material keys. The system that would save us, in essence, has not a chord to strike, for balance remains a diamond out of unity. Vision holds no grip on integrity when through facets is all we are drawn to see.

Granted, there is purity in these times--when things we deem important are well and truly here. But how we may glimpse them and respect them comes at the price of our subjections. The cost is not the cost anymore...perhaps: it has become the cost, with interest.

*

So, however the conclusion may be arrived at, I am sitting here, teasing out the line as I go through the motions beyond this screen and device, and struggle with the love and loss that echo and paw at my senses, day in and day out. I thrive now without merit, sanctioned only by the ghosts of bliss and advance, as always defaulting toward love and eyes for those most important to me, knowing that what moments we share are my responsibility to uphold, for in my ignorance I see eternity swallow the light of their--our--moments; I find the root of causality in the choices that I fail to make, in want of the ease and gainful focus of an other: for my internal peace and serenity.