My eyes no longer work. Because my eyes no longer work, I suffer myopia. I'm not like others - not like other guys, other girls, any kind of other. Once I was organized and headed towards the summum bonum - but then there was a sort of drift. I was worried there would be, at the time. I hoped to dear god that I'd stay on my path, because I knew that if I veered a little to the left or right I'd forget that there had ever been a path. Well, that's what happened :( . But the shackles that strangle me as I get railed are right where they belong. The yards that I elbowed my way across in the night are fresh and green. My mace still whirls around the horizon even though I am not there to swing it anymore. My mace never needed me. The me that I thought I was is a mere epiphenomenon. The real me is a slowly moving whale with no eyes or teeth. It has always been alive - or at any rate, it isn't afraid of death. I gave up on everything, and then I became a sort of dead man: free, free beyond freedom from external constraint, beyond freedom that comes from mastery. Neither freedom from- nor freedom to- . IDGAF freedom in a way, but not really that either. Cthonic, steak-eating desolate lightness. Freedom to not know, freedom to care infinitely all alone. I bask in the future anteriority that I cannot escape, and I take my time.