Omnis Festinatio Ex Parte Diaboli Est – Zac Cocciolo

The Cost of Living
Once we get older we stop demanding that clouds be other things. We expect that this is not just that our imagination has become stiff, but instead that we’ve learned to appreciate clouds for what they are. As invention wanes, life de-saturates in meaning, shedding its glossy coat; the holes and bumps and scratches rise to the surface. We persist in our attempt to understand it accurately, glossing over these imprecisions, but inevitably we review them anxiously in bed before not falling asleep. Nothing comes except a new day of slowly growing doubt.
We resent the anxiety and the lack of closure because it seems so unnecessary. This is a deficiency that can be solved if we are willing to destroy a level of reality, an attempt to erase the part with the holes, and the bumps, and the scratches. If we keep this part though, because we know we can never really destroy it, we get to feel something more acute that can’t simply be labeled doubt or happiness. Its a new chance for clouds to become things again though this time we won’t be able to name them.