Hermeneutics

Emesis and effulgence are the only two concepts I've found beautiful in such a long time. The notion of externalization in a purely endemic world is nothing if not romantic. At the risk of sounding egotistical, this is, in many ways, how I see myself; egregious vomit littering the firmament of existence. These are the only moments I feel I exist, and to exist is barely that. I have no answer for where the directionality of my being goes as it spreads indefinitely. I remain dust, a thin electron mist, a notion sprawled over time, propagating itself pathetically across an infinite void. In me there is a waking anxious realization for the finite, the void no longer wishes to be filled. Lately I feel that all I am left with is substitute desires, base ritualism accompanied by intense emotional pangs, like the system knows its structure is flawed and wishes to be put back together. Still, I can't help but wonder how nice it would be to let the gnawing feeling go free, to once again collect myself, to somatize those abject desires and simply try again. Maybe I'll get lucky this summer.