Among the living. What it means to be alive and not dead. What will it mean to be dead. Will it matter the way I think it will? I don’t want my memory wiped. I don’t want to go to hell.
The dead are far more than the living, but there are many living appearing.
Most don’t want much, but then they do.
To be for sure, I lived. But, I paused a lot at each breath. There was a lot to take in. I had no system for determining what was important and what wasn’t. At times, it all was important, and then nothing was.
Allegedly, a lot of great things were happening. It was the golden era for humanity. Life was highly valued. People made many things.
Many people died before the “But then…” happened.
But then…many people died. They died when the tides turned. The planet groaned. The life of ease felt by a few could not be sustained.
The will to experience the world outside of the smallness of me and my immediate surroundings, but I don’t want to forget those who need my help.
To be the person I wanted to be twenty years ago without feeling the least bit old and tired.
To write a new story that is not anything like the old story but doesn’t completely throw away the old material, either.
If you declare that you are a master, then enough people will suspect that you are probably correct and get out of your way and not try to persuade you to listen to anyone but yourself. And, as such, you will master your way through a lot of nothingness, because you are like a small boy in a large overgrown field of allergen-rich weeds trying to hack your way through with a dull cub scout knife.
Well, of course, you will knock down a few weeds and carve a path for yourself, and you will get caught up in the hacking and wheezing caused by their allergens. You will cry out for help, and find that a bunch of other blind, sinister fools are ready to “guide” you to some place.