A fly catches in a net, and struggles to regain freedom by thrashing and violently hurtling itself in every direction.
I breathe. The fly launches and launches and the net dances fancifully. There’s a rhythm to the struggle of the fly. A weirdly beautiful rhythm.
Has every fly thanked me for not killing it? If so, why not? They better watch out. I relax, but I’m still fast enough to waste any fly within arm’s reach.
Not really. The fly is actually me, and you just witnessed a humble but unsuccessful attempt at making peace with my inner fly, that flies in all directions in a fruitless panic, in a desperate attempt to get away from the darkness of my own thoughts about the children of billionaires…
Billionaires?
I don’t know much about the world, but I’d rather cross paths with a baby bear.
Honest to god.
This is what life feels like right now.
The present moment feels divisible as air and as boring as an opportunity and as cold as a stairway in Iowa, inspiring as suicide.
By the way
How close are we to trillionaires? Really close or not really?
