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Sometimes at the end of a long day
I look around and I am struck by how suddenly incomprehensible the world seems.

It makes no sense — I am rendered senseless — about all the trappings and typicalities of “living”.

I know nothing of wedding rings and diamonds and young girls married and old men stooped and color and riot and noise and the sad slack shoulders of shuddering enslaved salarymen making their way home on crowded slow train cars in sweaty steel-ridden subway stations buried deep underneath man-churned earth and granite.

It’s all meaningless.
It’s all worth nothing.

Who will remember your name when you are dust and ash, faded into the very air that people breathe in as you play your role in the cycle of life?

Who will remember your deeds and your hours; the sweat off your brow as you strained to do one thing more in effort to serve someone else who will swiftly be as forgotten as you?

Why do we go on?
Why do we care?

I don’t know. At times like this, as I take my tiny space in those packed cars, I slot into my part of this hodgepodge jigsaw puzzle of sweltering, suffering humanity, I know nothing. I am only a being that breathes in and out, that follows the road home, unthinking and unseeing.

I am senseless.


About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.


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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

August 2014
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