I fuck up inadvertently, I think, every once in a while just to see what happens. Things cannot simply exist in balance if one of the scales is not fed occasionally. It will tip over and bathe me in a burst of unbearable righteousness. We all fuck up for the same reasons, in spite of what we tell ourselves, or others. We fuck up to know we can still bleed; to verify that someone cares; to experience the consequence of action and realize that if we’re to blame for the bad, we’re also culpable of the good. A million times I’ve speculated the odds of one event or another, and wondered why things didn’t turn out differently.
Useless brain damage.
Every one of our misfortunes is intertwined with time, most often bad time, miscalculated time, wasted time, and so on. And yet our successes are the result of chance, luck, or hard work. We somehow distinguish one from the other, as if we’re not all fighting against an eternal, universal clock. In space, distance is time, but here on Earth we’re striving to quash it by inventing ways and creating machines that belittle it. Human hubris, in all its timeless glory.
Now, here is the oxymoron, the tragic irony that perpetrates our existence. We hold on to lifeless objects that we’ve associated with living and dead souls in order to go back at will and relive, everything. We waste time to relive time. We kill the present to enliven the past, even for a little.
We are in love with it, in the worst sense. We shed our ego when we need it the most. We lower our shield when we’re being attacked. We forget who we are now when we look at our past selves. And so, all we bring into existence are contrivances to go back more effectively. We have become experts in claiming one thing and achieving another, clandestinely, surreptitiously, cunningly.
We fuck up so we don’t forget. We fuck up to punish ourselves when we’ve gotten away with something we somehow know we shouldn’t have. We fuck up because we don’t know what to do with ourselves when we’re happy. We fuck up to know that we still have a choice. We fuck up to know we are free.
And then, we fuck up some more.