Closer to the top of the world

I’ve just driven up to Fairbanks. It’s daylight all the time and I was hoping some of my darkness would go away. I’m in the third year of a single long temper tantrum. I had a sudden thought, sometime back, that maybe I could feel less alone if I got to know a stranger. I’ve been prevented – by my family, my moral history. By the stranger.

I’ve become bizarre, unpredictable, and dangerous. I went around to the various hawkers selling their explanations and tried to devote myself to ‘answers.’ But the entire mass of twentieth-century philosophical diarrhea came flooding out of a hole ripped open by a mechanical fallacy (‘I am what I think I am’) – and the world is full of smiling practitioners obsessed with self-content and babbling nonsense. I’ll have done with it.

There’s something new birthing in the world. I’m not feeling it first, but I feel it strongly because I was born with a mind that seeks excitement and disruption. What’s coming is disruptive indeed, but it’s invisible if you’re sitting still.

I going to die ‘now,’ which is a euphemism for – what? Thirty years? Forty?

That’s just a disappearance. I didn’t get to watch a ‘death’ for fifty-five odd years. I should have watched one sooner. There is absolutely nothing coming my way, and I’m not leaving anything behind. What should I do? Embrace the tautological stupidity of ‘be here now’ – as if I could sort out from a fiction some solid chunks of truth?

I’ve been screaming into the night. For a couple of days now, at least, I’m going to scream into the daytime.

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