it seems fitting

it seems fitting to only write once, to say everything that needs said and be done with it. what is needed more, words or action? both inflict a cruelty of design upon the world that has nothing but that. is more better? are we less than that or just unwilling? I leave it up to the dear reader to decide for themselves what they pick and choose. I've done my own choosing and live with the results. a quick check of the life meter shows 64%, or is it 64 years either way its more than half. I have sent up my flare and am awaiting rescue, but this island of insanity seems fine from this beach of unending depths and deepening sensations. I await but have no sense of reckoning, just an inkling of despair mixed with wonder and curiosity. what game ends first and when does the beginning start, the facts are shaky and the days run out with the tide. I have always lived in the ocean on the shore  upon a craft afloat or sinking. the rudder and paddles  mysteriously missing. I suppose we are supposed to make our own way each of us through the unknowable and make sense of what can't be understood. I cant use my mind for the things that seem to make the most difference, so I use my senseless letting go as a useful partner. when I feel the direction to not, I let it go. let the whole damn thing float without me and come back for a refresher later or not. its a whale of a tale that makes no sense and has no characters or plot, just movement and sounds, lots of underlying possibilities but what  cannot be discerned is what it is. I don't leave anymore than I don't worry, its just the handle that I carry to attach to things.