A reflection upon mindlessness

I gave up my activity, let the world slip away, and took up the call. To work, to slave, to toil. I learned that *work* means when you haven’t eaten all day, when you’d rather have condoms on your shoes then have to leave such a filthy place spotless, and you know you’re almost done when you started feeling like passing out cold over three hours ago, and you’re done when you wouldn’t care if it was a landfill, because you would still collapse face first. That was the better part of helping in this business. 

This is literal, in fact if you’ve ever heard my description of the worst cleaning job I’ve ever had to live with, you know that I’ve seen much worse then the above describes lolololol. That reminds me of sth a friend once said that made me laugh, but I won’t repeat it to others.

Enough so much so that I know it, that the jobs we’ve had over the last couple years, are such a trivial breeze: it’s trivial cleaning compared to what’s already gone in the past.

This is also quite literal, compared to what it was, work has been a lot less terrible since about mid-2008. I like not coming home feeling like I was dragged a few miles.

Even at home, I’ve been treated no better then a slave, more is taken from my hide than is ever expected. Have I ever done anything, expecting a return? Maybe making a sandwich and planning to eat it too, but that’s about it.

I do things for people because I care, not because I expect them to do something in return.

What am I, am I not human? Do I not breath, tire,stab me, and shall I not [eventually] die? It’s inhuman. I am always expected to be of the machine, never of the flesh. Is it not where the difference lay?

Spend enough of your life being treated like something less than a human being, and you’ll understand it fully.

What does it mean to care, what does it mean to me? It means everything. I’m drowning.

Which is also something that separates us from the machines.

Before me, I see the question, but know not the answer. Oh, how many sleepless nights have we argued that? It seems as if, since the beginning of time. 

Only a handful of people on earth knows what this is, and it has nothing to do with my family: other than they often make it all the more sensitive a feeling for me. Being a private thing, I’ll leave it at that for an explanation, for as far as this journal is concerned.

Nothing else have I ever feared, more than that question. Nothing. My insides are rent by it.  Anything else, any danger, any pain, pales in comparison; risk of death or dismemberment, falls off the list.

The answer to that above question is the only thing in this world that scares the shit out of me. I’ve yet to find anything else that does, but I’ve also yet to discover an answer to the question.

What is the answer, will I ever know it? Or must I merely make one for myself, carve it out of my own bone and let it follow me down to sheol / That is where the future lay, somewhere well beyond the crest of the hilltops and beyond the moons gaze.

The alternative to finding an answer: being to to create one, which is as painful an issue as if to carve it out of ones own hide. Sheol is not an English word, it’s of Hebrew origin: those familiar with the Old Testament will likely comprehend it. Normally (in the NIV) it is translated as the grave, but carries an association with the after life. I use in a manor in between.

Fool ensnared, entrapped dolt! There is no way out but by the beat of the drums.  


In the side of my mind, I sense it repeating endlessly without ceasitation.

Both the question and being aware, that the only way out of this place is by brute force.

The roman, the arrow, the wing, the snake, or the jello, one of thine shall surely be my fate.

I’ve found 5 possible courses of action, only one person at the most, has seen that list, and only because I was about ready to bust at my seems. Being easier for my mind to refer to collections of words by names, rather than hearing paragraphs sounding in my head, obviously each has a name, that carries it’s meaning to me. GOD knows, I’ve read it enough to recite the choices from memory.