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The problem is I see everything and I don’t see anything.

Details turn to foreground. I hear everything. I can see the slightest of movements, feel the earth shaking, hear it, taste it. The teeming crowd of commuters. The scent and sound of a creek. A taxi suddenly putting on its brakes. A falling leaf. Dust scattering. The glint of the sun from some skyscraper. People hurrying, scurrying, worrying. Spices and sweets! The sound of people’s sleep. Everything. I experience it. I become it. And it makes me sad how all of the vibrance, the noise; all the volume and the changes; all these symptoms of existence are fleeting. How so much can be nothing. How every person born between 1850-1860 is now dead. A crowd, stolen and swept from the earth’s face. How tomorrow, it won’t be the same fluttering of the sky, and we will be one day, a decade lost, a new 1850-1860, a whole 90’s inexistent.

And when I don’t see anything, I am happy. Quietude and its semblance of endlessness. The cathartic joy of indifference, of not knowing; dislocated from reality; planted in some world with no sense of chaos; no definitions; no contrasts. Just a void. An unavoidable void. How happy it must be to be alone and yet not be alone. Only the silence is focus-sharpened. Nothing is profound but it is all you can hold on to for a taste of infinity sourced ironically from brevity. No time. No place. Ageless. Seamless.

The problem is my mind churns like this. Alternating. Switching between moods, with sources I can never quite pinpoint. I am. And I am not. Being. And just being.

Happy and sad. Present and gone.

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