Caveat: this entry is a complaint. Skip it if you are looking for appreciations. In fact, you are likely in the wrong place altogether if that is the case. Happy trails.
As you may know, if you have meandered down the breadcrumb-laden trail of this narrative, I am fixed in a discomfited dispute with my corporeal entity, which has accused me of abandonment, neglect and mistreatment. Fair enough: everyone - or everything - has the right to their opinion, to their perceptions. But what about all those dead people walking around?
I am not talking about the discorporate souls, those semi-transparent spheres of colored light, or their full-fledged counterpart images of human form (if partially transparent and often lacking in gravity - or even feet). I'm talking about incarnate beings, steering their genetic entities around like sleepwalking geriatrics or dead-drunk fratboys. It took me a while to realize what was bothering me, but I finally hit upon it: Death on feet! Nobody home! Vacancy within, but the front desk is closed! The room is rented, but unused. What a waste.
Now, far be it for me to assert that there is a better way, I can barely navigate the occupation of my envelope, as evidenced by the current dispute in which I find myself entangled. But, for some reason, it infuriates me to see these half-occupied vehicles being driven about with seemingly little purpose, intention or self-awareness. I bet I could herd them all to the cliffside, and over, in a lemming-parade of joyous purposiveness! But what would that accomplish?
Just do me a favor: do your part to wake these poor buggers up. It makes me sick to see how pervasive this condition is, and I must not be the only one. As for me, I confess that such an awakening task is beyond my present capacity. If I can emerge from unconscousness at the start of each succesive day, that is probably as much triumph as I can acheive currently. But hopefully you are less afflicted, and can act with a sense of purpose. I sure hope someone can - for the walking dead surely cannot.
As you may know, if you have meandered down the breadcrumb-laden trail of this narrative, I am fixed in a discomfited dispute with my corporeal entity, which has accused me of abandonment, neglect and mistreatment. Fair enough: everyone - or everything - has the right to their opinion, to their perceptions. But what about all those dead people walking around?
I am not talking about the discorporate souls, those semi-transparent spheres of colored light, or their full-fledged counterpart images of human form (if partially transparent and often lacking in gravity - or even feet). I'm talking about incarnate beings, steering their genetic entities around like sleepwalking geriatrics or dead-drunk fratboys. It took me a while to realize what was bothering me, but I finally hit upon it: Death on feet! Nobody home! Vacancy within, but the front desk is closed! The room is rented, but unused. What a waste.
Now, far be it for me to assert that there is a better way, I can barely navigate the occupation of my envelope, as evidenced by the current dispute in which I find myself entangled. But, for some reason, it infuriates me to see these half-occupied vehicles being driven about with seemingly little purpose, intention or self-awareness. I bet I could herd them all to the cliffside, and over, in a lemming-parade of joyous purposiveness! But what would that accomplish?
Just do me a favor: do your part to wake these poor buggers up. It makes me sick to see how pervasive this condition is, and I must not be the only one. As for me, I confess that such an awakening task is beyond my present capacity. If I can emerge from unconscousness at the start of each succesive day, that is probably as much triumph as I can acheive currently. But hopefully you are less afflicted, and can act with a sense of purpose. I sure hope someone can - for the walking dead surely cannot.
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