the stars hang over our bare earth at night. we only see them from this perspective, and they are 'out there', while we are 'here'. it's all perception; nothing less, nothing more. they are small, like simple white, silvery dots on an endless, black sheet of paper. but in truth, they are not. the very ground we are standing on should be ashamed to be so small in comparison.
but we are really destroying that earth, that little lost globe for which there may not be any hope. and then it hit me: perhaps this doesn't even matter. yes, all life, or the quality of that life, may be lost. but then again, it's only this very small blueish ball in a corner of the universe, and if we cover it with ashes and bombs and pollution, then so be it. there still are so many other stars out there, and none of them will tremble only slightly when the last living thing on earth closes its eyes.
maybe none of this matters. maybe we can continue driving in our cars alone, waiting in line, in front of and behind other cars, all exhaling the dust which will bury itself in our fragile lungs - the trees of our bodies. maybe it's not for the worse (nor for the best) that we throw our garbage into our seas and oceans, for they are lost and gone already. maybe we can continue doing all those things which strike people who are not afraid to realize. maybe nothing of all of this matters, and i am a fool to try to hold on. or, to echo Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead: what good is a brick to a drowning man?
maybe we can pile dust on dust, destroy and create, live in the dark, not caring about being blind.
maybe i can go on writing these pathetic little texts while knowing that i sound like a troubled adolescent, and know that they do fuck all, really.
maybe it's time we crush all trees to have more space.
maybe it's time to stop thinking.
maybe we can just leave things at that and go on living like lemmings close to the shore.
maybe i should close my eyes now.
i hope not.