53rd and Lexington

Waking up in the morning, as many who struggle with the concept would agree, is a difficult task most mornings as the day previous never wants to die. However, this day, waking up on a cold subway car, head hunched over so much in fact chiropractor’s are universally disappointed within a 10 miles radius. So hunched over in fact awakening to the sight of the bosom of an older lady, dressed in her “vintage” work attire, but inches from my face, begs the question, “had she been there long?”

Beyond that, why hadn’t she just sat down on the empty seat available to her? One quickly realizes that asking such questions begs no better an answer than, it feels more comfortable to be a little uncomfortable sometimes, than to accept that comfort might actually be an “okay” phenomenon.

This is just a reminder of the means by which nothing changes, or rather changes so very slowly that time itself forgets that everything is always in flux.

This delayed E train, between Forest Hills and Roosevelt certainly does feel like the perfect place to foster growth to the idea that as much as vehicular accidents can cause coma’s, the act of finding a seat on one’s morning commute, is equally as a potent a remedy to being unconscious with no real qualms as to external existence.

However stops on this train still remain, and the questions of the universe haven’t yet been answered, why no ask them one by one? Where is everyone off to today?

There is vague idea of where my own personal destination is, this day at least. Yet, where my proverbial form embodiment is headed (because there seems to be that difference some days), is the same job that i am inexplicably decent at, but don’t care to move much about within, as I care to only do my best, yet the administrative slog is hard to reconcile with the idea of change as all things are in flux and code can always be improved and optimized. It still takes too long to make any real difference, but everything is given anyway.

Back on this train, it baffles one not to wonder, “who else must be thinking exactly the same?” That the status quo, of the quid pro quo mentality of the ruling office mentality is the only definition that would every be? How about maybe another way a way that could change the world and ignore what feels like is here to stay?

Maybe that dude trying really hard to look as “cool” and “stylistic” by straining for everything upon his mannequin of a body be displayed to the level only the finest store displays would have him look, is trying really hard to be the stylistic center of everything might achieve his goal much quicker if only be being there in that very moment. Instead he seems lost in his store window, worried so dearly that his cravat might not be straight enough for everyone to want to purchase the merchandise he would so dearly want people to know he’s selling.

So what happens when the self idea, imparted upon all, becomes something to be manipulated into anything else by externalities and idea’s we end up believing are truer then others? And what happens when we stop believing them?

What happens when the people’s idea’s of themselves die? Not physically painfully, but truly, in the bliss of existence burning up into whatever they truly are, through realization, potentially painful, or just acceptance.

Would they realize their existence was no different from anyone else’s? That the only difference is how they view the idea of them selves, and that its importance, was only important to the idea of themselves then to the actuality of their existence? Would they continue to quarrel over the meager idea, if no one could ever hope to fulfill themselves through covering up their true selves with the masks of what they want others to see them as?

The statement, “over thought” does  not begin to describe the concepts that come through these words while sitting here on this train, but with a few stops remaining, the thought of letting go and accepting that everything is, as it was always meant to be, that maybe no matter what dimension or alternate existence, everyday is exactly the same, does not seem real.

That’s it, just a fight to exist; to love; to find joy in the little things. To know that something as simple as trying so very hard to adjust a cravat to the perfect measurements, or adjusting how a bag is held in order to attract the attention of those around you, for the sake of attracting that attention. Maybe that’s all there is, and how it will always be, that the little things we chose to do choose to define how our happiness is distributed, and there’s nothing else to be done?

Well, 53rd and Lex. It’s here to fill my existence with this day, as i head to my desk and find nothing different. Except, that I’ve remembered that I exist, not outside of something, but inside something bigger then me. The subway car its, here but only to the degree that I remember that its there fundamentally fucking with my perception of reality.

So the question as been asked, and it has been found truly sufficient to answer itself. Subtly, the same thing it always was, a choice to reason, to ask itself if it makes sense, because that’s all the question really is, the pointer to make sense of something that doesn’t.

I’ve managed to point out the madness of myself and all that would indelibly deny it to me as well, because it might just be an idea that I’ve attached to a pointless question, that never needs to be answered. Yet, I won’t do anything to change it. As it’s the mirror that reflects back a facade that is unknown and always fluctuating. Let reason roam freely looking for its next logical conclusion. Until the next stop, until the next time I wake up.

Soundtrack to follow shortly…

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