Keeping notes
what program am i running?
I found a lock in the bottom of the car’s middle console, a darker blue Mercedes. Bought outright, and maintained and kept clean like a whistle- despite the high cost. Even the slightest blemish, the owner immediately forfeits wads of money to maintain its perfection.
This dirty lock, that had clearly been broken off using massive force and dirty tools of some kind, sunk to the bottom of this long paper trail, lasting decades. Infinitesimal in the grand scheme of the universe, but for some, it affected their only small time on this earth greatly. The numbers don’t matter- it’s the principle, the truth that I seek.
Whether it was 50 grand, 50 years of work, 5 murders, or a secret covered up that was worth millions of lives. At the bottom of the center console, sat the epitome of man, the nature of man that is. A whole and perfect weighty image, to perfectly represent total lawlessness. That anarchy prevails.
Depending on which philosophy or belief system you want to ascribe to, objective truth seems to be the only lingering missing element in this universe, always just out of reach for us- deceiving ourselves, as we search for it- a needle in a haystack, a perfectly proportionate protein molecule, in an endless soupy dark abyss, in the open expanse.
We have yet to answer any questions about it, and yet it beckons to us, to know it, to become certain. The only thing I have ever felt is lost, in solving problems and answering questions I hoped to, feel a little less lost. To validate some shred of reality, in my external world- even if it was just, for a moment.
There is a desperate need to affirm, the difference between reality, and delusion- in order to finally put this empty feeling to rest- that I honestly haven’t explored enough to understand. But I can name it as one thing, that all humanity can understand and resonate with inside them- possibly at one time you’ve felt it too.
I just want to know the truth. And I don’t know why.
And every time I find something, a dull penny face down in the parking lot, a strand of blonde hair floating in the dryer- in a house full of dark haired people. I can’t resist but picking it up, carefully looking close at it, waiting for it to answer all the questions I have for it.
Where did you come from, how did you get here, what do you know that I don’t? Why do I get that feeling when I hold you in my palm. Is there such thing as truth, is there freedom in truth, or is ignorance bliss. For the sake of pandering to other planes of thought, is it d) none of the above and, the contrast between the top three choices are just a distraction to confuse you.
The Lock
