Le Sphinx Mystérieux, by Charles Van der Stappen, 1897.
I had learned early to assume something dark and lethal hidden at the heart of anything I loved. When I couldn’t find it, I responded, bewildered and wary, in the only way I knew how: by planting it there myself.
2013-08-07: Let’s trade places for a few minutes - deal?
the next time you think you’re lonely, just remember you have about 25 billion white blood cells in your body protecting your sorry little ass with their life. you have 25 billion friends who would die for you. no need for tears.
Will they come out and play if one asks nicely - or maybe not so nicely..?
Sure enough, they will.
They’re not amusing, though.
All they can do in response to such an invitation is die for you.
Twenty-five billion sacrificial sycophants whose company is ever-guaranteed.
Perhaps you’d rather take refuge in loneliness?
You’d have to - the world’s teeming with counterpoints.
If you listen at all (and can hear anything over your own heart pushing blood cells through your head) you’ll sense the awkward machinations of organisms and their cellular pistons running top-gear non-stop for survival, running so far into the red that their lives reverberate through the world and their melodrama echoes through the ages like a TV blaring daytime television through an empty apartment.
So maybe you’re fine if you can ignore all the dead ideas that try to hitch a ride in your brain and you can wish away whatever manifestation of unfinished business happens to fuel you or sit behind the wheel: convince yourself loneliness is the least caustic perspective on the business of survival - you can be fine, but only with damage control.
Would knowledge be reassuring if you knew that you’d be inextricably tangled in this mess and doling out as bad as you get, or is it better to “know” this could all only ever happen to you?
… but that’s not the case (and you knew it) - you’re as much another cell in the societal organism as any of those twenty-five billion leukocytes is a part of you - and the one struggling with all that is but one of your many sacrificial selves.