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Circus Rambles - On existential weirdness

February 22, 2018

I never listened to much Amy Winehouse, but "Rehab" has entered the radio rotation at my day job and hearing it spurred me to go looking for it on YouTube, which ended with me looking up a bit more research, and it's actually really depressing. Not just for the obvious reason. Currently I'm mind blown at the fact that she explicitly expressed fear of dying at the age of 27 a few years before she died at the age of 27, and thus went on to join the 27 Club that she was afraid of joining. If that isn't terrifying I don't know what is.

 

I think it might just be a more general fear of death and dying alone that's got me on this. And I thought it felt too deep for a thread on Twitter. And I'm still supposed to be expressing my emotions instead of, you know, not expressing them. So here I am instead. But now that I'm sitting down to write this it feels too short for a full ramble. I guess I shouldn't really be critiquing myself on rambles when they're basically just me venting some word salad about things I don't have the wherewithal to develop into more concrete articles, or about personal things like this. I've always said that we writers are a self-critical bunch.

 

Everything seems too small and too large at the same time. Time drags on too slowly, until you wake up one morning and realize you've been alone for the last year. Things that really significantly impact lives fade in memory until you remember your whole life only in broad strokes that you describe for the benefit of a therapist, and you know it affected you but you can't bring it to mind without reading a piece of paper you scribbled on years ago. This is only a few paragraphs, but it's more words than I can tell by looking at it.

 

The world is falling apart, and yet it still keeps going every day, somehow. Every story in a book or a movie or a TV show or a game has a clean ending and then everything stops. Life doesn't do that. It just keeps going like someone left the camera on or fell asleep at the keyboard, and its characters don't know what else they're supposed to do, and eventually they realize they just kind of have to wing it.

 

I probably shouldn't try and write these when I'm in weird moods like this.

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