Every day I wake up surrounded by aliens, & it is the happiest way to wake up. Humanity hungers for novelty & salivates at its potential fulfillment. I am a child of my species for better or worse, & I have been blessed with the foresight to seek becoming a shepherd of my nature. This is, unfortunately, clearly not the case for those who deny what they are for false images that cripple them as they struggle to maintain them. Like a foolish & headstrong child, they struggle against themselves, making themselves sick with their own inability to reach shapeshifting pinnacles that were not made with them in mind. They feed themselves with propositions they do not believe, trusting in systems they do not understand. They swim in water with sharks & squids after running on sharp rocks that tear their flesh to bits and chip their bones in exchange for self-esteem. They listen gently to myths of old & feel no spark of desire to recreate them, to chisel them again from their own stone. To betray love & scratch at heaven for redemption as Hercules, they would first have to love something in a way that has become so foreign it may as well be from another world. It would be as extraterrestrial as the place where Gods reside, where legends would find themselves after seeking out the answer to the question of their lives.
I am therefore always surrounded by a thick substrate that covers everything & everyone, assigned an endless series of numbers and scores for accountability, capability & inevitably destiny. The relationship I've cultivated with these absurd abstractions was one of friendly courtesy, as I quietly differentiated myself in the hopes of escaping the mundane, even if only momentarily through the explorations of my own mind. When one toils away in the dark, it is not difficult to lose your way, and there seems to be a good reason why there are still parts of ancient jungles avoided by modern men. Not because we are afraid of treading there, for our quest for novelty is absolute, but that should we tread somewhere dark without a source of light we doom ourselves to become shadows. We are above all things children of sunlight, & the sun does not shine in all corners of the mind. Nonetheless, I appear to be counted among the lucky & upon my chance emergence from that self-inflicted night, the waking that occurs when the light hits my eyes, I am once again faced with the world I've inherited & I suddenly feel estranged. So far as to say that the rhythm of life has become like the song of a bird on the verge of extinction, singing desperately in hopes of finding a mate, ignorant of the depth of his complete & total solitude. The analogy is insufficient as the human equivalent is far more tragic; his song was truly singular, and ours is a choir of loneliness. We are all surrounded by aliens.
“To betray love & scratch at heaven for redemption as Hercules, they would first have to love something in a way that has become so foreign it may as well be from another world. It would be as extraterrestrial as the place where Gods reside, where legends would find themselves after seeking out the answer to the question of their lives.” — I am convinced that your ability to exercise the connections inevitably formed through putting your thoughts on razor sharp edges easily nurtures pathways in the minds of anyone who reads your work. Your mind is a reservoir; a quenching of thirst in a desert oasis. Thank you for sharing your work with the world and redefining what it is to be passionate.