One voice cries out to the consciousness.
Time is a river that flows from an unknowable to origin to a cosmic destination. Time is a a resource shared truly equally among the entire world, distributed indiscriminately by a father that abandoned us all. Father time is the deadbeat dad to rule the cosmos without protest in any way he wishes. Time moves fluidly from one soul and life to the next without warning, never stopping or listening to cries for mercy. Mother nature rules the cosmos but father time has long since abandoned us and left his children to a machine of his own creation.
Take my heart in hand and smash it again, I challenge you
I've been in this place but never remember what to do
You know every piece of me and move to make it whole
Emotions are a gift to the living. The ability to cry, grieve, rage, and smile are all unique to those still drawing breaths. Wrapping the rest of the experience in a false joy is to cheapen the experience of live. Spending too long in any one state denies the full range of feelings that we have access to.
I live in a small room coated in an all sensory experience of dread and laziness. The tiny cube lends itself better to being a vice for any amount of progress or joy that I might find outside of it. Leaving my cube only means eventually I'll have to come back to it, be enveloped by it's crushing maw of soul hallowing emptiness. People say I'm dramatic, that the cube surely isn't as bad as I've made it out to be, surely a cube the size of the one I'm describing couldn't be so vicious purely by nature?
On the edge of the water a young girl stands and looks out at the infinite. The whistles of the water and gentle crashing of Mother Nature's chaos know precisely the right way to lull her towards them. She and the water never learned to get along and her visits with the giant never ended well, emptying her lungs of their life and narrowly avoiding staying with her new liquid friend for the rest of time.
The office she'd made her near permanent home was never quite as soul sucking as people always told her it was going to be. She'd upgraded from a cubicle to a room in her own home the moment she knew it was an option. The privacy and comfort were both beautiful aspects of the upgrade. There was never perfect silence due to the way her keyboard clacked and clicked as she worked but she was always able to find some sort of enjoyment in the sound of progress. She had the freedom to blast out whatever music she wanted to, not having to worry about complaints or interruptions. It was beautiful.