cyclic

what i thought was this:

we all feel alone.
and we are.
and we aren't.

and the planet spins and it really doesn't care whether we're alone or not. time doesn't care and math doesn't care and art doesn't care. i care and you care, maybe, but i would say we're in the minority, all things considered. it's a kind of death, a kind of decomposition, and that is the most natural thing in the world; it happens on a cellular level, a species level, a social level, a planetary level, a stellar level. everything falls apart and then comes together again, in some form or another. given how normal it is, i wonder why we so fear our own fragility?

somehow that didn't seem too comforting.

***

i ended the day in a dark mood. i have to write soon about my new roommates, and i will, but the cosmic lovechild one was here when i got home and she said "did you have a good day?" no, said i. questioning look from c.l. i think it's just that i'm really ready to be done with my job, said i.

that was easy because it's true and easy to digest. when you don't want to talk about something, just tell the truth but not all of the truth. (as if one could ever know all of the truth.)

anyway it's good that i live with people because now i'm in my room after an hour and a half of talking to c.l. as i made chana masala, the fragrance of which has permeated the entire house. my hands are stinging because i diced several jalapenos and the sensation connects me to something vital, something that makes everything else sting less.