Chapter CloseIt was about that journal entry that I met him, my dearest little wrecking ball of contentment. Contentment should never be striven for, for once you reach it where else is there to go? What else do you need? When you are fulfilled you are of use to no one, you make no moves forward you make no moves back, change is slow and steady, apathy reigns.
I make it sound dire, but I'm happy. So happy I don't need to draw, I need boredom and sadness to put pen to paper and it's just not there anymore. And it's not hopeless fancy pants happy either...not a raging storm of emotion just a pleasant feeling deep inside like a sedative. The kind of so-long-as-i-have-food-and-TV-I'm-fine happiness that stops humankind progressing.
I am progressing still just not the same way as I used to. Instead of running with my own feet it's like sinking comfortably into a car seat, being pulled back with the g-force. Sure I'll get further but will I see all those little details on the way?
There's always a chance of a breakdown I suppose.
I doubt it though. I met old friend at an even older friends party and simultaneously remembered why I hated and loved my old life. Now that was something fucked up, that was progress of the most horrifying kind, that was elation and debasement on a daily basis. Still, it was a rut of it's own kind. Maybe everything we do is just headed for mediocrity in the end. Einstein may have been a genius, but kids still fall asleep in class when the teachers yakking on about him.
[im not uneasy, my computers fucking around]
Uneasy
Shame
Sociable
