Contemplative Rant on Remembrance

Are you know surfacing above mounds of work or caught in lag time past other schools on predominant academic calendars? Are you inventing, learning, and living - in your own style - at ease? Do your synapses come moderately fast when you know you need to rise to the occasion? Are you suspended in a world much like my own? And will we ever cross paths, old friend? I wonder what you call me behind closed doors, when alone. I wonder if you look down on me or have risen above, in your own fashion, finding survivable in this world to be simple, but not worth worrying about. I wonder if you live inside frame and fortune, because for you, the painting is enough. The fruit, the sky, the horizon, the sedentary lifestyle - all of it is just peachy, isn't it? Are we destined to meet again or did I fuck up everything back then? You know what was useless? Metamorphasis. I couldn't transcend myself because of anatomy. Because of physiology and simple chemistry. Knowledge is eaten up in rough servings and then recycled through ranting. Ranting unlocks the secrets of the universe, a mentor once said. Did my ranting to you, back then, annoy you? I didn't want to be that guy. I funneled memes to you, remember? When I grew, you did. But hell, when a good thing is gone, we want it back. And even with that, we want more. I do not think you want more. I do not think you really want in that awful conventional sense. It's the mindless need, like how a child says he needs the new toy advertised on the screen. It's the same way those hubris-filled bourgeois need something to be done because they accumulate bits and pieces for their reputations, which become anthills. Enough of this drab. How long has it been now? 3.5 years. And I think about you and this. And now, and wonder - could it have been easier with you? Scratch "easier". Enjoyable. That's right. En-joy-able. Kidding. You are like my grandfather. The ambition is always a sliver beyond the present and invisible. We just can't see it because it manifests itself like a momentary noise. Your needs are quite simple and it's as if you subconsciously long for the life our de terra ancestors had so long ago. And so long ago, there was no need for the onslaught and overflow of words and acts. Things were dandy. They converted me, my friend. It turned me against you. A woman, a girl, an institution, a bad set of nerves, and adolescence. I don't feel so ashamed anymore, not when alone or with my usual crowds. But it'll be a different story if I see you or your crowd. I'd break down then or at a later hour, then vividly remembering most of everything. The highlighted exchanges and actions. And I wonder what it is that you do, because I fear that we may wither because of a lack of symbiosis - each of us alone. No. I will. You shall thrive to the best of your ability