sometimes, like other human beings on Earth, i feel a separation pulling my brain from my skull to float above the rest of my body. i'm entirely out of my own, almost like a birdseye lens on a camera. i am both a king and his jester. she looks like rot; haggard and vaporous. it's not necessarily contentment, unless that's synonymous with defeatedness. there really isn't much that can be done here. so i just watch, marking a star on my calendar for Judgement day.
i don't really quite understand the idea of letting things go. i can't believe i'm actually typing this out, but i would like to make a reference to a recent purchase of mine as metaphor for this topic. experiences in my life are kind of like a fresh pot of slime. if something feels so good to hold in my hands, i'd rather it actually just tack onto and directly cement to the skin of my palms, and i can center and accustom daily living around my new slimy hands even if i'm making a mess of things. i expect the body heat i radiate to keep the stuff pliable and useable for...ever. the longer it's in my possession, the worse i will feel if it were to dry out or be thrown away or confiscated for distracting my classmates who apparently got desensitized to bare shoulders. i guess this convoluted and terrible metaphor could be more intelligently explained with terminology we've all heard before-- sunken. cost. fallacy. sunken slime fallacy? slunken cost fallacy? su...