2

The truth is simple; freedom is the act of being free and I am not free, I have never been free, I will never be free. I was born into a system when freedom had been modified into some terse cheap thing.

And we leveled the forests to make money, and raped the oceans to make money, and destroyed the air to get us to jobs so that we could make money. And I often questioned this in a soft voice but the fact was resoundingly simple, I lack the efficacy to make a difference. As I sit in a suburban house, without access to a vehicle or firearms, and questions the bare truth. That lays stark naked like a dead 9 year old girl on the side of the road; Disney panties around her ankles: even if I had all the tools there is nothing to reclaim the freedom we already lost. As a multibillion dollar military secures its own future on the blood of others. Coercing every member of itself that the only intrinsic good is that of itself. As army ants must consider that there is no forest, only the hive, only the good of that which you are a part of. And nothing else matters because nothing really matters.

If I were free I would live in a world that did not depend on petroleum based products, certainly plastics are a crucial part of this modern life, but excessive packaging isn’t. We need to be able to defend ourselves, but unusual weapons being used in foreign lands are not exactly self-defensive. This nation does not defend freedom.
I think of freedom in the rolling waves. I think of freedom in the sprawling mountains, in forests that have no parking spaces where the forest service can give parking tickets. Freedom is a place without encroachment, without dependence on money, without excessive…excess. Where we trade pieces of paper for bits of silicon and lithium to stay in contact with our friends and loved ones.

And I ask: Is this Life?

Did this matter? Because the fucking truth is that I cannot share with you or anyone the experiences I’ve had in the rolling waves, or in the sprawling forest. I cannot tell you of the amazing sex I’ve shared. I can only seek to share it as often as possible with as many people as possible. And this becomes problematic in a world where women still seek equality, homosexuals still seek recognition. Plants are killed with impunity and animals are created and destroyed without concern for any intrinsic property beyond their consumeability. And I sit here typing. Because it was the best idea I could come up with given my already preexisting set of parameters that I had no control over. And the great thing about typing is that it requires readers. And frankly reading requires time, and spending time doing something that is even marginally unpleasant is a loss of freedom. Because words are another product and I lack the efficacy to separate my product from anyone else’s product. And as such I become rolled up into the grandiose scheme of this overly manufactured life.

Even my sex is an object of manufacture. Offspring are a financial burden but if you don’t want to face biological extinction you will assume that responsibility or you will force yourself to assume that responsibility and in context you will, in essence, take your own freedom away. It’s absurd, we don’t need slaves with shackles or child workers; the population of this planet is such that we throw our own inherent triviality in our faces and we might as well clasp our own psyche in irons from the onset.

And I know this; there is a woman I have loved for years whose time I hold higher in esteem than anything else and will go to great lengths to spend any moment of myself around her.  I dream often of waking up with her in my bed. I dream of our adventures and wonder how much I could unconditionally love a person of this caliber. But the truth is far less poetic; I lack the efficacy to secure her and she is the type of woman that thrives on security. And though we may share a collaborative understanding of what security is- the truth is the truth.

Freedom, in a sense, is a world without desires.

Freedom is the absence of desire.

In my world, I am not free because I love and continue to seek to love with freedom.                

1

The words become trivial.

Esoteric and meaningless.

And I sit there frozen wondering how I ended up in such a pointless environment

 like the dead space between our worlds.

Where I share borders with others, fronts, and transitions in terrain there is places that I cannot go, things I don’t see
to what avail was this. This place that destroyed so much more than it could offer.

0

to this day i fail to see the importance of writing, i fail to see why it has any relevance, i fail to see why i should spell-check, edit, or modify anything beyond the generally circumstantial stuff.
this is my voice.
with that in mind
 this is what i sound like. these are my words. This is my life.

My name is nothing special.

My words are cheap.

My goals are selfish

My beliefs are realistic.

My past was eventful but unimportant.

I haven’t learned anything enough to consider myself fit to teach.

I feel things that are not there physically.

Sometimes I see things that are not there.

I am adept at lying but I am not pathological.

I am talented in empirical ways.

I am a Nihilist.

My life is my message.