My pupils are too constricted to stretch fully and see. Those lashes are too obtrusive. There’s a certain feature of mortality that provides clarity. It defines us. Defines the way we think. Even if that means we try to think alternately to the way we would otherwise think, we wouldn’t do so if were weren’t so bound to death.

Our fate provides restrictions, limitations which help us define moments. This moment. You will never be as beautiful as you are now. I will never know whether I should have tried to kiss her or not, or ever fully work out what the word antidisestablishmentarianism means. If we work with and accept our inherent restrictions then maybe we can understand with clarity our place in this world.

Well that’s highly disappointing. That doesn’t satiate my desire or my will in the slightest. This mortality is getting old. As a concept, in fact as anything, it’s tired and tested. It’s jaded. Think of something new, something more fluid.


Infinite idealism. That sounds pretty good. It’s not quite there yet that’s the nature of fluidity, it can change, be moulded, expand and evolve. This flexibility is already heightening my senses. Memories are beginning to emerge on the surface of my skin. I’m seeing what I thought I’d forgotten, and tasting what I thought I’d never forget. It’s tantalising, mesmerising fascinating and –

Time consuming. To hell with these untimely meditations.

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