In spite of ourselves

Strobe lights and blown speakers
Fireworks and hurricanes
I’m not here
I’m not here
— Radiohead

I’ve disconnected myself at last. I’ve deleted CNN and MSNBC from Safari’s Frequently Visited URLs. I no longer visit Trump’s Twitter feed, “just to check” the level of insanity. I unplugged the poison drip, cold turkey.

We listen to morning reports of course, the 6 PM news on TV...awareness feeds on information and I refuse illiteracy. But I won’t plunge into the depths: for three years I drowned, my lungs and brain screaming for oxygen while I swam further and further away. No more. The change, in such a short period of time, isn’t even remotely subtle: my thoughts are clearer than they’ve been in ages. I’m writing again, shooting again. Breathing.

We’re alone and we’re a multitude, separate yet identical. We host quantum universes in our blood, aspire to the same improbable ideals, all of us finite and impossible.

I see no plan
but I do guess at beauty, still.
We will always be one, fundamentally indivisible—in spite of ourselves.