Lost

Creatively, I like being lost. That’s why I don’t have a mental GPS. It takes all the fun out of not knowing where you are going. It squashes creative risk.

I feel the same way about Smartphones. I don’t want to be located. I don’t want to be found. I don’t want to be contacted.

I enjoy walking alone. There is nothing on me that would make it easy for someone to find me. I could drop a glove, I suppose.

The mind is its own labyrinth. I stroll it for hours. I don’t need a device to keep track of my whereabouts. I am everywhere at once. Time is an illusion.

Time and money. Two very deep bags we carry around with us. But they are never as deep as we think or wish. We always wish they were. But the material for these bags is of a different weave than the material that makes us bodies, flesh.

What’s your bag?

I’d like to be unburdened. No bags. Time is always too short. Why can’t I live for ever?

Money. Never enough. Endless echo, echo, echo. Not worth the strife. Not when death is stitching our cere clothes.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, put another penny on the dead man’s eyes.

Being lost doesn’t mean there’s a need to be found. What’s found is always lost again. Just ask time, history.

But being lost means there is always something to find. Discovery is always found on the path to nowhere. Even if it means going round and round in circles until you have to begin again at the end, or end at the beginning.

Time: an apple in paradise, just out of reach.

Money: paradise locked inside an apple.

Lost: The apple in your pocket.

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