moonlight on my windowsill

Sleep has been overcoming me too much these days. It grows faster the harder I try to outrun it, grows stronger the more I fight it, grows more cynical the longer I put it off. I cannot win against the shadow, cannot keep my eyes focused against the dreariness, cannot fight what is inevitable.

There is so much work to get done, yet all goes unfinished as I tumble deeper. Dreams make me fitful, night time makes me dream. Even in the silence, there is no pause. Nightmares bring me back here, back to you.

It can be more restful once we are done.
Until then, I am afraid of the night, terrified by the morning, always running, never resting. Always paniced, never calm.

Tomorrow we will be better, but today we fall asleep.

High Noon

I just spent an hour of my usually unusual morning-afternoons reading up on everybody's blog. I even read up on the ones that I haven't thought were really that important anymore. Granted I didn't read every post on the homepage, but I read enough to get a feel for it.

Everyone's but your's. It isn't like you update anyway. It isn't like I wouldn't know if you had.

But that reminds me, I need to link those two creator. Their work is brilliant, and I would like to know what they are up to much more than some other random things I have listed that I don't really ever intend to read again. This means link clean up. Perhaps this also means that I am starting to care about this again.

We'll see. I have too much to get done as is.
But I did get that paperwork done, and I did schedule a "consulation" for a new dentist - which really just means a "hi are you a fraudulent ass or can I let you touch my mouth without ruining it" meeting.

Good for me. I still have too many things unfinished.
We have work to do tonight - and not of the paying kind.

-Rk

My fellow humans

I am part of a generation of no ones.

We are the generation of the world's children that are still just waiting for something to happen. The generation that won't start a revolution, because the situation is not 'bad enough'. The generation that has no more emotion about anything.
We are the frogs in the boiling pot, steaming to death, wondering why we are in a pot. The generation of the slowly dying, unaware.

The world tells us we are not sunstainable, that our fates are inescapable. That we have dug our own wells down to the center of the earth and found that we can not pillage it, so we make our wells into our graves. All we have is to wait for the finish of our subtle existence.

These children are all waiting for the world to be theirs, but it never can be. So, instead, they are waiting for its destruction. They will not go back, will not change course, will not stay the fathers hands, will not make a choice.

We will wait until all the air is gone to breathe, until all the water is gone to drink, until all the world is gone to live - until all human efforts have gone to hell.

Only then will this generation die.

-Rk

These days

Sleeping late, waking later. Living off the marrow of your bone, the ether of my soul. All the while, questions of "Can it last" or "Will it sustain" will not leave me to peace.

Today will pass; it is half gone. Tomorrow will come; it will pass the same. Before we know what has happened, time has elluded us and it is December already.

The months are cold and short and full of going forever into nothingness, accomplishing of emptiness, gaining only in speed toward an ever extending nowhere.

I think we need a new plan where we can live without this shortness of breath, this vapidness of time, this vaporness of days we live.

-Rk

You are slipping away from me.

It has been happening for months, maybe even years. And with each new day, the distance grows stranger, stretches further, until a chasm we cannot pass, cannot cross meets our eyes.

"Where are we going, now?"