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.