Pre-phallic fallacy

Go through hours without conversing but clued in. Go through days with only a book for company yet get along quite well with those who people everyday. Go through time without wanting to know people cause friends, relationships happen by default. Love those few.

Wouldn't call it self-sufficiency or self-possession though there are strands of that swirling within the dyke. Lil whirlpools suck the fabric off existence and experience, and reveal nothing. Nothing is just a step away. Freedom from nothing. And then life would indeed be perfect. Death would be the next natural thing, as natural as breathing. Zilch struggles with transitions.

But the dyke is two-way. Walled in. Keep cresting and peeking over the ridge. Smile and wave at pretensions. Keep making eyes at self-delusion. Throw myself at the edge and over the wall. Lil specks, droplets lie clinging to it all and then dry up. Renewed.

Frustrated and hemmed in by yearnings of why do I know and why can't it be, of things denied for some weirdass reason of time, wanting to ignore, wanting to dry up in the cliched sea of life, wanting to fear death, to live moments of transitions. And as human as one can be, give up exhausted. Resign myself to nothing. I can do without nothing, I say. But I'll never have nothing till the vanity with which I say it lets go of me.

Things could be simple I realize. But it isn't. It isn't complicated either. Black and white's real. Is. Isn't. What to do with them is the grey area. Not run of the mill yet wanting the same things plus more. Compromise is the fear of death.

One shot at life. Why snuff it out before it's even kindled.

Larry made his peace with the world. Billy ran away from it all but couldn't hide.

Drat! They didn't cut my chord right.