bus' blog
Solitude is other people.
When locked away you go inside your mind, some would say crazy. Back and back through corridoors of endless memories. Thoughts that you thought were yours appear to be ghosts of your past mocking your assumption of a coherent self.
The self is shattered, like glass it falls into pieces, and somehow falls into place. Like a jigsaw puzzle, our clockwork is - that is the tik tok of our mind. Endless reels scroll through like cannonballs, thudding at our temple doors, as we try to rest at peace we find that peace is only part of it.
Certain thoughts are elastic, they echo, refract back from prysms of times when you thought you were free of them. In life we have to juggle many things - some are like rubber balls; others are made of glass. If you let one rubber ball slip through your fingers it will constantly remind you that it is not gone yet - you hear its bouncing sound wizz past your ear. Others, more like glass or precious chrystal, can only be dropped once; which is to say, they cannot be dropped. For if you let them slip away, you will never live to see the day you again lay eyes on them.
You announce 'hell is other people', but really there are no others here. Our mind is like an empty jug with a hole at the bottom and all our memories like words of water poured through, every idea ever impressed upon you - all are like glass shadows and empty mouths.
When you are alone your memories are amplified, if those memories are bad then this can compound in interesting ways.
In this way, solitude cannot escape itself.
10月9日26年.