Dine with me

If something has a beginning and it gets lost, how does it eventually reach the end when the middle is lost in the abyss of nothingness, hiding or reclaiming itself from a future that it doesn’t want so it came back from another time to place the present into fookery whilst erasing it from the past, that one thing would always have been missing?  But it wasn’t missing in the beginning. How does she remind herself of something she does not know, is that even possible?

He appears to have this effect on her whereby that part controlling that bit that regulates the madness, he’s somehow made it disintegrate, so how does that work then?  Ilana wishes she was a flower and did not know the concept of love, I could just grow up and bloom, have a romance with a humble bumble bee and wither and die in the time space continuum, that would be the best life but here I am touched by the human race.  Touched by the stink of emotion and love and betrayal and heartbreak and most of all, her mind is misted by three letters: Why.  Why.  Why.  Three letters made up to question everything.

Ilana is a funny sort of girl, expecting the expected whilst also expecting the unexpected.  The unexpected is a pendulum in her world, tick tock, tick tock, waiting for the next bout of crazy to strike.  Like Cinderella, midnight, lost slipper, big adventure, happily ever after.  All stories could be simple, but then stories would pan out as life, and who is going to watch real life?    Disclaimer: Reality TV is not real life, it’s still contrived entertainment.  She is trying to live out a story, except she cannot distinguish the plot, and the leading man is missing in action or in “pause”.  Food for thought anyway.

The confusing catastrophes roll on, one by one by one, after another and another and another.  Uncomfortability, which is different to discomfort.  If the unexpected leads Ilana to be inexpressible, then she can’t fathom the purpose of the unexpected event as inevitably the result is a nihilistic thought pattern, or effect or narrative with no thread and, worse, no needle and no ending?  Any ending, it doesn’t need to be happy.  An ending means accomplishment of some sort, duly life.  If she doesn’t live life, her end is, well, limbo.  Loose ends are ghosts, and who wants to spend eternity as a ghost?

Everyone has an abject ability to dislike someone else’s propensity for intensity and authenticity, and here she is torturing you with hers, which is quite selfish. But I don’t think I’ve ever been this honest with anyone, she says, so take it or leave it, I am genuinely mad, aren’t I?  Brilliant. Talking to myself and documenting it at the same time, pretending I’m sane.

ink is free, so...

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