It’s all vibrations. Consequences and echos of memories written down or illustrated or captured or recorded on stone, tapes and drives. In hopes that ideally your loved ones loved ones loved ones will have all the chances at the most fruitful life. My heart beat to their heart beat to theirs. Or is it all just ego and human nature to feel that we are so important that our opinion matters at all. After all it can all end in a moment when the big one hits. Comet or rocket or colony collapse. One big nihilistic black hole being swallowed by the nearest black hole. But we did have a good run for those 5 billion years. What are years anyway? Time is manufactured by the humans whose very human nature is that they do everything in their power to defy time. All chasing our inevitable individual deaths with our illusionary pipe dreams of an afterlife, let alone an afterlife that cares about us at all. Egos. Infinity. Ever expanding particles reproducing ourselves at exponential speeds so fast they are imperceivable as it’s the very fabric in which we are grounded in.
So write your poem so that your children can find the scraps in a dusty drawer and have a feeling about it. And by all means trade your days of youth for the money you can accumulate for your governing order and maybe left overs for your children and children’s children. Make art or don’t. Make money or don’t. It does not make a difference. It doesn’t. And in those moments you are doubting these words…. EGO.
It is only this very moment where anything matters at all. This moment can be infinite. When this one leads to this one leads to this one, it is all one moment of purity. Grounding.
This is what “fun” is … and fun is subjective. Love, pain, violence, surprise.