Promissory Note

No one can hold me accountable for my power. I must impose self-regulation or become saturated in the power that I have grown into.

I have long known I have the ability to start a revolution. But do I have the power to stop it once it is in motion?

I cannot begin, because the answer to that question is still no. I do not have the power to stop what I start. Starting is easy. Stopping, however, nearly impossible once things are moving of their own accord.

I hate that I waste so much.

That I drive to this futile job every damn day

And do nothing.

All for what?

For what?


To pay a debt that will never be paid?

I am powerless.

Not one thing I have found takes the burden of this away from me.

I am forced to be at odds with all of my goals, all of my reason.

With a car that is slowly withering

And no backup plan.

Every morning, fear

I return to fear

Will my car start? Is this the day my brakes give out?

What will happen when it inevitably does happen?

I will have to go into more debt to do something that serves no one

Just to sit at a desk, become unhealthier.

I have no choice.

What can I do to be free?

The answer: Freedom isn’t an option, why even think of it.

Relationship issues are just a distraction. Anything a human throws at me is inconsequential because there is always a resolution, even if it is painful. The true issues I deal with are against systems. And there are no solutions. I play at problems with people. They are games to me, albeit it real with real consequences. I think it makes me inherently condescending.

But what am I to do? We need vices.

I’ve started little fires before and saw how quickly they burned what I love. But I want to start a big fire. Who knows if I ever will have the strength and cunning to accomplish that task. My aspiration in the long term: Light the world on fire. Then extinguish it.

Hubris. Deep, deep foolish pride. This struggle in my spirit may just be a remnant of who I once was, some sort of clue to what I could be. It certainly is not the reality of who I am today, in 2015, America. What cruel joke has placed me here, duped out of my freedom by the promise of knowledge. Eve eating the apple and finding it to sate her hunger and nothing more. Therein is the real trick of its sweet allure. The apple does what is promises; just not all that is promises. I am more similar to the apple in this life than to Eve; she had the power to act. I am an object.

I don’t like to ask questions I don’t want to know the answer to.

I cannot bear to live if the answer to this one is what I fear it is.

Trapped forever like this

Until my life is bled from me.

I can wait a little longer to hope a little longer in something different emerging.

I think it might just be something my soul needs to learn.

My soul has always had power,

And is too full of pride.

And so, this life is what I have been given

To learn humility.

And I see it as a punishment of my arrogance

Deep and old within me

To live this life bound by other’s will

And none of my own.

What shall I learn?

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