A fallacy of fruitless endeavors. A mindless misconception being stuck in a rut caused by a negative state of mind. Or merely a bad day rolled into a lifetime. Performed poorly in a desperately repetitive robotic daily routine. Canceled, nullified by dull minds, and soggy, dreamless sawdust heads of misinformed miscreants. This fictional flight of fancy fantasy is a reality for many.
We go round and round the circumference of zero. Laugh at the devil, make the devil dance, and shake those rattlesnakes. The humankind mind-conditioned system of hot-headed, brain-dead waves never justifies the discontent in individuals tortured thoughts of dread. Delusions or primal fear; otherwise, it’s all lumpy gravy. Electric shock therapy treatment. Lobotomy. Zap! There now, feeling better? Just a minor adjustment. A tweak here, a recalibration there.
Will we ever get out of here? Every roadside ditch, those pitiful pitfalls of calamity, is left behind to wallow in mutual discontent. Swaddling in the muddled misery of eerie, monotonous daydreams. Hugging the pillow of discomfort. Stuck in a dark corner of despair where misfortune mingles with broken skeletons and ghosts of former selves. Who were you before? Past lives of strangers who were once you. A younger version. Flesh laid bare at birth. The trauma tormenting immortal souls in hellfire's imaginary flames. Potholes, slow down, deep as a speed bump jump. Craters and fissures wrack up the pool cue eight ball of a free-fall failure to launch. The cumulative canyons of grand cathedral minds.
Pacing slowly back and forth, a few steps forward, turn, a few steps back. Year after godforsaken year, the path grows deeper, the gully becomes wider. Or, perhaps you prefer walking in a circle. Turning the millstone to crush those bones to powder. A silty flour to bake our daily bread. Now packed with more calcium. Crawling constantly at a snail’s pace between point A and point B and back again. It’s a man-made grave. But when you finally finish your travails, all that remains is a tuft of hair sticking up in the air. Moving back and forth like a tin shooting target. From ground level it looks like hairy grass growing. A Chia Pet. Stuck in your rut. Everyone has their own rut to dig. We dig our graves very well.
It’s a sad commentary on the current situation of living in a society where people are forced to be in a constant state of flux. Struggling, in a slump. Surely, you can dig a hole big enough to hide your head in, but a rut is the gradual process of finding your place in the universal groove of living life in constant motion. Slowly eroding the surface to reveal what lies beneath your feet.
That’s déjà vu in reverse. Not that we’ve all been here before, but we are here now for the first time. It is like we never left but only just arrived. Once you see it, feel it, and hear it, you can’t stop seeing, feeling, hearing, or even thinking about it. It’s forever. Not to be confused with eternity, but just as long. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, but maybe not. That’s okay. You stay in your rut, and I’ll keep the pace in mine.
There are places for people like us. You can’t find them on a map or GPS. They don’t exist in the physical sense. I’m talking about the map of emotions, that baggage we cart around like carry-on luggage in a plane to the subconscious. That place where you dwell in your mind. A location where the world of your dreams comes together to trip you up. Grateful for the best of bad situations with gratitude to the people around us who show us the way out. It could be simple enough, but nothing ever is. When everything is going well, it seems easygoing and humdrum. The tedium of hours. The wasted days turned into years. Get out of that rut and tumble into another. Or rut like a beast in heat.