it is the twenty first of july and no one told me that knowing is a fallacy. to know is deceit. it means nothing. no one told me to truly understand is a pipe dream. that making sense of something is just a trick of your own imagination. that one day you might find meaning but that it might run away from you the next. that you might find yourself chasing after it, clawing at the ground trying desperately to regain it, only to realise when you make it there that you never really had it in your grasp to begin with.
maybe I would be a different person had I have never known, but I don’t care about that person at all. perhaps some other pain might inflict me, but it’s this one I can not bear. no one told me how much of life is born from our own construction. how much of life happens solely within the mind. how little of it is outside of our bodies, how little we can see and feel and hear and taste and smell. no one told me. no one. no one? how do you explain something like this anyway? it’s genuinely maddening. I keep thinking about it as if it’s like finding out the moon had fallen out of the sky. something so unlikely, so fundamentally life altering and yet you come to discover that you were the only one who cared about the moon all along. nobody bats an eye, you’re told you ought to learn to live without it, ought to erase all the memories forged under its hopeful darling light, to make yourself stop caring. to stop everything. to cease. you start to second guess yourself. you’re telling me the moonlight had no effect on anyone else? how could you not have loved the moon? even if you seldom looked at it, does it’s absence from the night sky not pain you? you start to think it was never real. maybe there was no moon. there was no moon. there wasn’t one. I never knew a moon to exist because knowing is a fallacy. the ground I thought was solid still split from underneath me, a sound that brought me comfort morphed into something I can’t decode and the night sky is missing the very thing that made it. I think I actually know nothing at all.
it’s hilarious to think that there had been a time you could ask me about “Knowing” and I would speak as Commissioner. I’d known like the lines on my palm, I’d known well enough to draw from memory, like a mother knows their baby’s cry from the rest — it just occurred to me that I might still be learning. hang on, what if? no. I don’t — no. whatever.
a lot of this feels like a dream, to be honest. when I was little, I could control them. someone would switch the lights on in the morning and I would wake up only briefly, opening my eyes just a sliver to let the news of daybreak fold into my slumber. I almost always dreamt of something, and if I could recall what it was then I would simply go back inside. half-asleep, half-awake, all drowsy, I’d be conjuring these plot twists and dumping them in halfway through the story wherever the hell I wanted and I just wish I could do that now. I wish it could go my way, but such is life.
God got me. I know that much. no one needs to tell me that.
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