gut (gut) wrote,
gut
gut

As the death-clock ticks away.

Marc sits alone contemplating if he has irreconcilably ruined his life. He knows the answer is no, but that's small conciliation, as he catalogs all of the things that are terribly wrong. He can't do this however without considering all the things that are terribly right and good and lucky...and then I say, "I have lost everything...just not all at once." which he likes as a concept as much as he likes mixing his point of view mid sentence. There can be no self-pity nor any desire to be pitiable. He's not, and he hates victims even more than arbitrary human-made rules...especially structural ones...he actually loves arbitrary human-made rules, because they provide the structure which allows you to know you are deviating from the path can be the most dangerous and the most rewarding thing you can do and living in the woods, these metaphoric woods are not a bad place to live but after awhile it gets tiring and confusing and you know that everyone who followed the trail markings while not in a "better" place at least knows where they are regardless whether they brought their compass. I brought my compass but I forgot to label which way was North so I just had to choose a point which I call Nort because I always thought that 'Naught' was 'Nort' it was so long before I ever realized it that I decided if one can go 27 years thinking that Naught is Nort, it's really no problem, and anyway it's my compass and it will lead me to Fisherman's Beach...wherever that may be.

Marc knows what he wants, but there has been a large investment of time into something else and he's gotten too deep into the woods to back out, he must continue to follow his stupid compass with no guarantee that anything positive will come of it and there may be bears. He's here alone...and no one can take that away from him...or more accurately anyone can take that away from him, but will he let them? Probably not. No one deserves to be in a hole they did not dig themselves, and no one deserves to be lost in the woods...and how much stuff do you have to build to no longer be lost. If Marc stops and builds a shelter that he lives in like Thoreau and stops paying his taxes like Thoreau...Okay...to be fair Thoreau never stopped paying his taxes, just the portion that went to the war, possibly the Spanish American war, I could look it up if I wanted to be smart about this, but the writing should be pure...which leads me to admit the fact that I did look up Nort, but only because I can never remember if it's me or the rest of the world that has stayed the same while I was out and when I came back to my shelter I knew where I was, I was home, and not lost in a sentence or the woods, which must come with some kind of complacency...lost indicates a desire to be somewhere else, and the zen approach is to accept where I am, but it would be awful to stay here.

The Thesis is simple: Follow through, kicking and screaming, and accept the fact that you have a long way to go.
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