what remains
we are keel to keel
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
Recently, in the middle of the night, I was held within the grasp of some quite impressive physical pain. I felt distinctly as though there were shards of glass in each of my shoulder, elbow, wrist, and finger joints, with even the slightest of movements causing them to grind, pierce and slice. 2 a.m. always has a habit of welcoming uncharacteristic ways of thinking for me, but bring pain into the mix and things quickly get out of hand. The blend of darkness, cold, seeming solitude, and agony sees a narrowing of my thinking, a funnelling, whereby any potential for relief is chipped away to reveal only a point which swears that this, this suffering, is the only true thing—and not just in this moment, but the only true thing which has ever been. Nothing has ever been good; I have only been delusional. Nothing will ever be good, either, and the sooner this is accepted, the better. We should all stop heaving ourselves up the sheer face of this summit-less mountain of false hope and accept our fate. Happy New Year, by the way!