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The Time Is Out Of Joint before/after The time is out of joint. I'm not sure if time has ever been in joint for me, but there have been many times I have been well into joints, so that may count for something. Probably not. My life is in tumult. Problems abound. And everything feels excruciating to me. Cold is so much colder. Loud is much too loud. Colors are so bright it hurts. Feelings blow me away, like a leaf in the wind. I have to wonder if I am a culprit in all of this. If by some subconcious design I have been plotting my ruination all along. All of it. Every bit of it. From confusion to consignment, pain to malaise, if I am solely responsible. I find it hard to deny, though the link is absent or hazy. But who is it that makes this fate for ourselves. And why would I want me to suffer anything? These questions trail around in my head like the fox and the hare, with no resolution in sight. It just makes me feel worser for the wear, aware of just how much of a bastard I can be when I try to outwit myself. My life would have been far better spent doing something else somewhere else, but I cannot imagine what that would be. All I know is that I stumble along, seeing the massive amounts of fakery in the world, the self-delusions, the phony masters, and think, "Goddam, this all falls into the margin of error." (Margin of Error: In short, when someone estimates something, there is a mathematically calculated error in every estimation. As in, 'We calculated the age of the rock, and came up with the age of 2.6 million years, give or take a few hundred thousand.' Also of note is that any estimate of the age of the planet, and on top of that, the universe, ALL of human history folds neatly into that margin of error, without really disturbing the overall results. Meaning that this whole banal pop culture oil worshipping syndicate that we've created could very well likely be a cosmic glitch. A mistake. I find this strangely comforting and distressing at the same time. Comforting because I like to believe that everything I've ever been taught will at some point and time be proven wrong, and a certain meaning may still lurk beyond, out of sight. Distressing because we've been given a celestial shot, and we waste it with deplorable and unconcious ease.) And in the middle I feel hapless, unable to find a way other than wandering, unable to find any discernable meaning other than resigned existentialism and a desperate blindness to the facts of the day, burning my life by the night, wishing to find some way. My life has already changed, and I have not yet accepted it. Turmoil seems to abound in my mind, with nothing settled. And the time is out of joint. Perhaps its about time I started getting into joints.
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