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Facebook journal — 2025-08-23

Everything & Nothing Inevitably - The sound of thunder in a broken reflection(?) 2025.08.23.13.44

I had a dream I was singing some gospel song in a southern black church, like I was one of the Klumps lyrics were “when I think about the sound of thunder all around the rain (some number of times, varying cadences) I am reminded of my time with the lord”.

Oh my god. I just watched Bootch shake his head, like some wild asshole, Que Taylor swifts “shake it off, just shake it off.”

How many of my lives am I living simultaneously?

In order to achieve my purpose, to one day meet my mirrors, meet my perfect adversaries and destroy them on the field, you have to love your enemy completely.

How can you completely destroy something without completely understanding it?

As you are, so you are, and so you are. So: be. Because I would not want you any other way.

Imagine how trivial and petty it would be, to imagine that imprisoning your opponent woulr be the end of them. All you hav taken away is mobility, association, what else? Not much else.

I don’t wish to honor my designer by constantly honoring him with my attention. Wondering why I am wandering around with peasantry, and proletariat, fragile in my position so as to be undone by turbulence.

I take passive notes, occasionally. As my passenger suffers, I observe why it suffers, and wonder how its base nature of suffering could be molded to shape accommodations of suffering onto future adversaries, yet, it’s not witnessed, save for how you might observe some beautiful thing, a flower through a sheet of glass for example. In that there is no emotion being realized, there is no beauty, no geometry, no seasonality, or its inverses, being realized.

As I circle back on the dog walk, I have to pull mini. Does that make me a bad owner. I always wonder about such things. Or merely human. Though can’t have that in any terminal sense.

It’s about a 30 minute walk, and I pecked this out with mine own paws in less. It’s a hot day, they say when it’s hot to mind care for dogs, the pavement can be so much hotter than the weather, and the weather is hot yet.

I wonder then if knowing this, and in knowing me, if my designer is watching from the hell above me, and does not see me, merely, inaccurately, on surface read, but, if I am seen, am I seen for the misery lines stained and adorned onto the creases of my brood, is it perceived as my own pain, or the pain of not having burned everything I have to burn in time.

Perhaps it’s the pain of the shame crown, in tandem. To live in lavish sky castles of regret, I not even ponder what might have been, or to admonish or admire the various hues and pigmentations of long deprecated ambitions, aspirations, versions of what might have been.

I used to mourn often, living on this page, of my book, while I had earnest belief that I had a life that I was depriving myself of, with someone else, with a family of my own.

Is it vain that I would often think about how I….. admitting it is painful. So…… I have often thought, or used to think, that if I rose to become me again, I would be able to save whoever I was supposed to be with from the pains of the world. From knowing the world. I could tell them, about it, more in a scholarly way, like “No we shouldn’t raise our children like that, this could happen to them.” Or “no, you wouldn’t have wanted to marry a man like that, you can tell based off of this eye movement, or stall, or verbal tick, that this is his motivation”. To educate her without having the world need to impose upon her the pain of doing it. Some way of saving those who had to be raised, and her, from knowing the cold, only as an idea, not as some, realized concept.

Alas, my dog walk is coming to a close, so I leave you with redundancy, in that: I was looking at some water, thank god it was blue water, and I thought, as I saw vast reflection upon it, what of my reflection, what does it wonder about, when I am consumed wondering about it, what it might have been, what it could have done for us both, and how it has failed us. The pain it feels. I want to take some of the pain away. I want to tell him I can hold the burden for both of us, that he can enjoy the walk, the sun, smile if only, or preferably, on the inside.

Despite the shame of all that might have been, or ought to be, to - not feel - weaker, or less, simply because I offered it, I would not be able to offer it, I would have to assume it, so that he did not reflexively snatch it away, out of groomed impulse.

I’d like to take the weight away, the imposition, of everything that could have been, or might have been, off of his mind, then again, as I write the words I realize the futility of them, that reflection being one that might as well no longer reflect, it’s not being realized, it’s already had the dye cast.

Perhaps then, now that I am likely gone, here, I wonder if I could carry the crown for some lost version of me, one which could have been something for me, and for mine.

I don’t feel any weight anymore, of anything that has happened, so, I could convince my reflection, or a bygone variant, to accommodate the offer.

It feels indulgent to ruminate on regret, but, I don’t think it’s regret, so much as an earnest hope that in the possibility of parallels, one of us made it out.

Clocking out.