Deconstruction

There is a resolute desolation that infiltrates even the most secure and distracted soul, managing to deconstruct its defense mechanisms past their point of override. It shuts them down, folds them inside out, and grazes through your insides as you watch helplessly from the straight jacket of your own intelligence, unable to do more than merely concede to this act as it happens before you in real time. There is so much anger inside me i sometimes think. An arrogance. Some say they do find me arrogant, some say its just confidence. Why can we not choose how to defuse the anger, fueled by this desolation? Why cant we opt out. Press Eject. The more of a controlled construct I fashion my push button life to be , the more helpless i am when events beyond my control are presented to me. Its a constant tryst with oneself. 

When faced with the ultimate zoom out, as one pulls away from the devices used to give ones perennially futile existence any meaning, it become so clear to me as i writhe in the straightjacket of my intellect, pinned at that emotional distance from my own catharsis, that all existence is truly, beyond a point, a waste in entirety. Like this, idle and indulgent ramble that i shall cast afloat in cyber space for your universal perusal...