My worst enemy

A moment of realization is worth a thousand prayers. Mickey Knox

Is, quite obviously, myself.  I’m not alone in this, when I say “I”, maybe you should read “you” or “we”.

The things I do(n’t do)

I don’t appreciate what I have, and often think I could be better off. I keep overlooking the beauty of each passing moment, and always expect more. I’m trying to live in the future, as a way of avoiding the present.

I forget I am somebody. A living creature that needs rest and has many other basic needs, I forget I’m not an immortal metal cog inside the giant social machine — I forget I’m very perishable and will die someday. I forget I am alive now.

I kill myself slowly with bad food, or skipping meals all together, bad sleep, tons of cigarettes, and irrelevant information overload. It’s been a while, too long, since I drew a deep breath of frosty mountain air, or sniffed the sea. When I get there I read the newspaper, or look frantically for a network pipeline.

I limit my usefulness to very few people. I’m integrated, yet alone, I’m plugged-in yet mostly useless. I move forward with no real purpose. All my purposes are trivial, wrapped glamorously as they may be.

I no longer ask fundamental question and no longer believe in anything that I cannot see, smell, feel or hear, I’ve become a set of highly developed sensors with no real goal, I exist only as a reflective projection of myself, among the other ghosts.

I’m my own enemy

There’s always room for blaming others.

Not this time. It takes a split second to really know, deep down, that I’m the only one to blame.  It shouldn’t be hard to unplug from it all, really, and find a way to rediscover what is real.

But I’d rather subject myself to this new and utterly complex drug for average people that modern living actually is. I bathe in an ocean of meaningless information, under the electric lights. I’m growing less human (whatever that is) by the day.

I turn myself into a delusional mechanical creature — oh, the irony. I voluntarily let life drain out of me, and I trade flesh and bones for useless nothings. I let days go by with no memories worth retaining.

I waste it all, because I’m modern.

I would’ve been better off hunting and gathering. Or perhaps plowing a small garden, somewhere, anywhere on the barren surface of Mother Earth.

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