Inside, I meet despair. I’m convinced I am familiar with her. Maybe she has changed, too.

The room is littered with emptiness. The details are unimportant, but they are evidence of solitude. It is a basement apartment. There is little sound from above. The mourning begins. Emotions require a flood. I am under the command of The Direction. Thoughts are plentiful now: twisted memories, unlived futures. The death of fantasies. I must live the fantasy, ignoring my surroundings. It’s easy, I am in the cave. This imagination is nimble and wily: it finds an early end to every maze.

by Lee

It's too easy to live in your bubble, develop a more complex illusion of problems to complain about. Drama. Propagated. Celebrated. It's too easy. You were born into the responsibility of ease: challenge hasn't confronted you, maturity stagnated. The ease has made available your creativity to apply to those who don’t have it.

Living isn't something that can be simulated. The world needs our idle hands. And if we don't volunteer to confront this reality, we will descend into the worship of immorality.

I feel close, and also distant from my goals. I know soon that I will reach them and then they will be far off again. I'm celebrating how the mind takes a stick to my feelings, stirs them into an agitated ooze. In a way I am pleased, and relieved, to watch my thoughts have this incestuous battle to create something I've never seen. I had been so discouraged by the notion that all things have already been created, and I'm just reshuffling them.