I am a dangerous mess.
Keep your distance. Stay back. Don’t feed the thing. All normal warnings apply.
So do the phrases: it doesn’t know better, it was only following instinct, there’s no such thing as a bad dog.
I make a mess, not because I want to, but because I don’t know how to do anything else. I fuck up people’s lives, not because I’m trying to, but because I can’t help it. I’m the oni the religious fear. The monster you don’t want under your bed. The yokai you need smoke and candlelight to drive out.
I’m only trying, like you, to be alive. But my living causes hurt. I don’t know why. I often think I shoud stop. But, I’m too afraid to try. And so?
I only try now to walk lightly through this world. To pass like a ghoat through the walls. To not touch too much.
How am I doing?
If this morning is any indication: continued failure.
I need to make penance now to be clean.
I need to wash my hands and feet.
I need to speak in honorifics.
To somehow attempt to show I am more than what I seem.
I am sorry for what I’m made of. The weight of a nation ever on my shoulders. Does this place know what my blood comes from? What monsters my parents have been? What treachery their power caused? Does the ground itself not want me here?
It is good, though, to have to bear up under it. To, like the cost of being alive, know tbe cost of one’s inheritance. To know that we are, regardless of present action, connectd by strings to both the ones before and after us. That we cannot exist as an isolated event. Our lives but bits of thread in the greater weave.
I pay the price for what the generations before me chose. And the same for my life goes. I choose better not because I love it now, but because I have a brain that can comprehend I need to love life at large.
Failures to process this is only failures to hit the mark. It happens to all of us. Forests burn and mountains fall. Death ever by the side of the living. We cannot help but partake. Our choice in the way we go about death drives the changes that create the face of the future we choose from those infinitely variable.
Everything is possible.
I will make my peace with myself by doing what small I can to make it, first, with you. We’ll see what comes of that.
What was that about a crash?