It was the last days of sun, she said. It's hard to tell because there was a high point and there is a low point and we're somewhere in the midst of them. But it's an unknown place. It's an intangible center that is perceptible, but maybe only in its aftereffects.
You start getting really grumpy. That's how you tend to know. But yeah, maybe it was a few weeks back and you didn't realize that you'd crossed the threshold into the zone in which you'd start to get grumpy.
Exactly. But what it means for us is catch the dying year. Like if we notice the decline even before it starts and we ride it all the way down, we'll suck the life out of it. And when it's dark, we won't be pissed because we'll have watched the whole thing descend consciously and actively. We'll have made our way into the depths.
But the depths are still depths. And paddling out of them is still going to be a bit of hell. And if all you're doing is cruising down to hell, what happens once you're fully mired in it? Isn't that going to be worse in a way?
Nah. It'll change the depths too. Like you'll be winded from all the joy you've just had in that sort of blissful radiance of exertion. And you'll look around and say, not half bad. What if I were to start climbing that thing over there? What if I were to dig it down here for awhile and see where its slopes take me?
But that's just fucking optimism right? You're pulling some silver lining shit on me. Glass half full and the little drop of honey. Little drop of poison is more like. And you pull that poison with you and spill it all over the new day. Nah. You can't have a good all the time.
Who said it was all going to be good? That shit is hard man. You're going to be exhausted riding down the days. You might even hate the god damned light for being so shimmery shinny while you're goading it all on. Whipping yourself up in a lather and grinding your bones into that good night.
I'm not saying I buy it. That's a lot of fucking work just to get over the blues for a few days.
Half the fucking year man. More so if you let it seep on you.
Lot of fucking work. But say you burn those days to their stump. Say you drive down those nails til their flush. Say you take an ax to the misery of man and you're ready to go to work. Say you do all that and you just want to fucking chill out for a little bit?
It'll come man. You ride the crest of the day. You dig your heels in the sand and push yourself up out of it. You sprint your way up a dune always falling back, always falling back. You crest and you ride that shit down again, not like a passive freefall, but a skilled technician of sliding catching swiftly every little edge and curl and its just as fucking intense as the climb but in a way that feels totally different. In a way that feels in a certain respect like mastery, but without the control and dominance that word entails. And then the climb again. That starts to feel different too. Every foot you dig in and the burn of lifting your sorry ass up one more step. Every fucking inch of it is its own form of coasting. It's just the flip side of freefall. You think you're the master of every step, but really you're letting yourself get right up inside and entangled in the chaos of it all. You're outside of gravity. You can't climb against it really. You can't fall into it either. And you're better for it both ways.
It'll be sun up soon.
Good.
