For the record, all is not quiet on the Western front. Voice is silent, but life is loud. Busy, but not busy enough, or in the right ways. Tuning out and taking in, watching videos and seeing noone. Inspiration has been an ice queen to me. Serendipity a cold shoulder. The Fates, stirring my life, eddies of their pot twirling me around. Initiative, vigor, gusto, gravitas, energy, confidence — these words have fallen from the pages of my life, and I drift through the chapters, reading. I will speak soon enough.
The paragraph of my life is dotted with red-squiggled underlines, each one an automatically-detected error against predetermined protocol.
Most of those squiggles are accidental typos that I’ve not had the chance to correct, or that I’ve decided to accept and move on.
Some of those squiggles are intentional typos that I’ve laid down for raised-fist effect.
The remainder are correct words that are not found in the dictionary of normalcy. I just don’t feel like clicking “Add to Dictionary” on every one. It’s my own story; deal with it.
I read the news and all I have is worry.
Seems the few want to control the many. Some of the many want to be left alone, but the larger part of the many agree to the control as a proxy means of controlling the many. They themselves are being controlled, but they don’t care, as long as their chosen few are the controllers. It’s like they’re rooting for the winning sports team; if the team wins, then they win thanks to a trick of neural processing (see mirror neurons).
Their own liberty is at stake; everybody’s liberty is at stake, but god damn is that a great field goal. Hooray for our side!