the sea,

it's strange to have done this before in such a different way, not expecting to revisit it. is everything uniform if different means arrive at the same end? does it make any difference the road taken, as long as you got there? if before this was done out of apathy, now it would be done out of this feeling of thick, dense, sickly sweet insanity, of innate displacement and a churning wormhole in my head where alot of normal things should be. there is a vague happiness, or maybe something else. to just wake one day and go, it would be nothing, to travel on and over alot of established land, through crowds of people set on the mainspring of human activity, trying for pleasure and everlasting beauty. to be dead would mean peace and quiet, maybe some sort of wandering soul or thoughts forever stuck in a box. my family, having made a lifelong ultimatum out of eternity in return for goodness, they would remain stationary and hopeful. that is slavery and bondage to things that are inevitable and steady approaching. but if there aren't clouds with harps, there must be nothing else but some huge emptiness. i can't know which is worse.