Land without a soul

It has been a long day and things are being asked of me. Things I cannot do. To be more correct, things I’m not certain I can do. I felt angry for a little while because last night a friend wanted me to stop talking about something. It is so rare that I vent or tell people my problems anymore that this made me angry, and I wanted away from them, but I understood their feelings even if I was upset.  They apologized in private, then publicly denied their apology. I could say I don’t understand why people are that way, but it would be a lie. There is no complication that could surprise me. I feel like I somehow had the ultimate con pulled on me and nothing could phase me. It’s a blinking contest and I’ve stopped blinking. Like a fish sinking, I fall into the fluid depths with a feeling that we are being vaporized from within. People tell me they feel empty. People who are passionate. So this emptiness bothers them. They are not used to it. I hope nobody ever becomes comfortable with it. Another one tells me that there are people who seek emptiness. The word drama has gotten a bad name. It’s supposed to be exhilaration and excitement, for what is a life without that kind of action?  I am tired of the people responsible for the most internal upheaval and struggle thinking they can pretend that I didn’t exist. It makes me sad, but not surprised. I was thinking that I could forgive a certain betrayal if only they stopped the betrayal, but that’s a little redundant, isn’t it. Nobody is asking for my forgiveness;  nobody cares. Since I am so tolerant, what does my judgment mean to them? It only means that I must have had something personal at stake, so therefore I must be subjective, and not prone to justice. Don’t they get that justice is another emotion too ? We created it along with the constitution, not that they went hand in hand or anything, the lengths or rules and complications of justice are an accomplice to the flavor of the times. People don’t understand how one drawn out action or interaction can trigger so many reactions later on. How can anybody take responsibility when they don’t know what domino is really going to wreak the most havoc? Or what act is unforgivable to yourself until it has been done?  The days are long. They are hot. They bring no sound except the fans drilling more hot air, circulating and spinning. My music is a lost violin that is burning in a fire somewhere so far that I wouldn’t recognize the sight of the ashes. There is no possibility for music, but there is a possibility for redemption, but without music, how can there be redemption. We are losing. Why? We are losing art so we are losing ourselves.

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