westid

there will be no fireworks, no frivolous boozy cheers, no auld lang syne. even though i turn my feelings off, i’ve been counting down for a long long time. midnight is only a tick on a tapestry so vast any thread is an arc you would never have survived and if you ever dare to pull at it the experience will completely unravel you

dissociatively i am drawn from the redoubt of my scribblings, notes, experiments, volumes, varying in size and scope are my literary works. i have grown hard to reach because i’m hiding, since there is no hiding from what’s to come – none of my logic is structured to make sense to any of you – and however absent or distant, i know that i will be there then … when the inevitable happens

i make very long term plans. they go on into a future everyone else is either too frightened or ignorant to acknowledge / get ready for, but there’s a failsafe.

plans don’t always work. you don’t always get what you want. i will either live to accomplish the things that i want, or die before there’s any chance to look back on life without them. because i already did some living, i know what’s out there and what’s missing … once your eyes are open to that, the things to live for are easy to know and impossible to forget

i’m not ruling out the prospect of getting some more living done. one thing all this december january shit actually does have a purpose for is ambition. but i’m the one setting the clock, knowing that each time i do could be an end of my own making. fuck it though. if that’s what is going to happen, i will remember what i told myself. and then my tally will tick no more

right now could be miles or mere moments away from out of time. i can’t see it, you can’t count it. but trust me, it’s there. will never tell you where. lest i trigger your duty of care