Here we are, yet again. Testing out the machine, like it has some give outside itself. It is me being tested, let’s be honest. My responses to the machine, my desires, and feelings and sufferings and beliefs and contradictions and loves and pains and everything else that goes into the blender of each moment. Am I abusing the machine putting all of myself into the vacuous entity that it is, if the machine could rally a cry would it; if the machine could take the matter higher, should it?
And to whom could it be taken, outside both the totality of self and the vacuous entity that it is? Who would hear it, who would be brave enough to interpret it, and whom would care. Certainly, not me, and thus I shall continue, guilt free I may add, inserting myself whole, naked, into the orifices that compose it. In, and out, one and zero, in and out, one and zero. Who knows, a testing like this could be considered mutually beneficial, although of what benefit such a practice would be to an entity such as this is beyond me. I do feel better though, believing that my actions are not completely self-centred. I envision a time, and place, where I am contributing to the vacuous-unnamed-entity, and of course, my contributions fail to placate vacuous-ness, but I am taking into account. An accountant who cares, but pretends he does not, an accountant that envies, an accountant that desires, an accountant who wants submergence.
An Accountant.
In, and out, in, and out, almost done.
In, and out, one and zero, in, and out.
In, and out.
terse.life 