autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Applesauce, me

I am an apple, cored
my seeds, now racing from me
my energy, a fruit, desiccated
I rest closer than breath
to the ancestral tree

It is the way of things, I think; all life feeds off of living, feeds off its environment, feeds off of whatever is slow enough to be captured, to be caught, and consumed.

I remember racing. I remember the frenetic and flush feeling of being filled with passion. I remember that even the missteps were imbued with a certain delight – mistakes along a path were yet progress along a path – any progress was delightful and all delight was toward making progress.

It is hard to pinpoint the moment that I first, truly knew that “something” had changed. Harder yet to point at the moment wherein I realized it was a binary state – there are some changes that are mutuable and some that are not.

This, a reality that many popular life spokespersons prefer to ignore, is doubly troubling when discovered for oneself. One feels both ashamed and confused by it; what must it say that I could possibly have any insight to it, while so many “learned” or “professional” or “popular” others do not? What must it say that this one insight selects us out of “belonging” merely by encounter? It speaks ill for us, as I am finding. It speaks ill, indeed.

I have never felt more unwanted by my children in my life.

I have never felt more unwanted by my profession, my peers, my comrades and compatriots in my chosen passion in my life.

I have never felt more unwanted by my community in my life.

I have never felt more unwanted by my world in my life.

These feelings have weight. They have force. They impact.

Over time, I become no longer apple, but merely a lingering, remnant sauce; beaten down to easily consumable form.

I am tired of feeling so unwanted, unneeded, unmattering, unuseful.

More than this, I am tired of trying to hide it as I struggle to find the way to overcome it. Weary, sore, and sickened with a sense of sorrow that will not leave me be.

I am left to feed upon myself in an effort to continue striving at continuing to BE my best self… a pattern that cannot hope to sustain, maintain, or contain me; this is a desperate and demanding thing to ask of any sentience, particularly when all such desperation and demand are quintessentially dominator’s of any ecosystem in which they appear.

It, literally, is the point of tipping over the inner edge of that outer boundary – the final boundary where the final question mark, serenely unassailable, waits us all.

This must be how it feels to feel as if one is out of options; here, it feels that the longer one tries, the greater one’s idiocy is proven to be.

And if there be one thing I still know with the zeal of my youth, it is that I am no idiot.

Thus, the coring continues, as it must when one is disagreeing with an entire reality.

I am not ready to be that applesauce. For all my weariness, there must need be more force than this to fully press me to acceptance.

But I am tired. Very tired.




Soundtrack for the day: Some background: DJ RoboRob is my new guru of sound. Found him by coincidence (#NoSuchThingAsCoincidence) and have been listening almost non-stop ever since. Perfect blend of 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, 00’s, and beyond into a surprisingly well-rounded and (con)texturialized series of remixes, original compositions, and covers. I’m already in love with the #whimsical and almost Puck-ian use of #8bit and #funk right alongside #swing, #dirtyBass and more than I should try listing here. Ya’ll should seriously check him out. #JustSayin.