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We Are All in This Alone
Writing is a solitary pursuit.
If I read the phrase, “We’re all in this together,” one more time, I think I’m gonna puke. What the heck are we talking about? We’re in quarantine. Or haven’t we noticed?
The sad reality is that I’ve used that phrase myself in one of my articles. I can’t remember where, but I’m sure I tacked it on somewhere trying to emphasize the importance of some bullshit I was talking about.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m losing my patience. I don’t want to be in this together. I want to be alone with nature. I want to go for a walk with a soulmate that understands me and loves me. A non-canine that fits that description would be a novelty, but that hasn’t happened yet.
I want to spend time with the trees, and I want them to talk to me. I want to get high without having to worry about paranoia eating away at my brain. Let me smoke without weird chemicals attacking my cardio-pulmonary system.
Where does my inner voice come from? This stream of consciousness that allows me to string words together, one after the other into coherent sentences. Words. Logos. We exist in words.
If we remove the physical façade in which we are trapped, all that’s left is words.
