No One is Exempt.

you, your inheritance, and your creeping paranoia

So sad. So successful. No one is exempt from pain. Just sitting alone watching the rain, romanticizing a life encased in the pages of a well worn spine. A tome, a tomb, a poem a womb. The most primitive of information exchange, tracing letters in the steam. If someone is fragile, are we equal? As people, can we condone pain as this growing experience that both embraces and transcends humanity? A world without pain, is a world without love. Being reduced to what we are, what we want, acting out an objective we would like to believe was written just for us. In the stars of space, the napkin of a bar our parents met in. A snow-globe of parts and phrases, we are all require some assembly. The glue dries. We choose words, ideas, places to act as our spirit totems in a culture that patronizes or ignores such a imagination. Falling off a carousel of the prosaic, this fascination with starts and stops. The in between falls by the wayside, like fast food garbage, our legacy in the wind. Our formative years spent deciding on stability, redemption, happiness. Which path has the most rest stops, ease of traffic.

I'm watching this movie that illustrates a long held belief. This overpowering sense that nothing is new, or original, but valid nonetheless. This transition from a linear story to the highlighted reel of dysfunction and deception. The "shallow waters" of our most private desires and how we cope with our decisions. What did we give up to show our possessions? The amusements we rely on and resort to in our evolving interaction. A resonating tale. The acceptance of a part, whether or not you feel it's the one you wanted or deserve. Being there.