Melancholia, and the Emptiness of Traveling..

I’m a transient, diffused light through stained glass. I love and I loathe simultaneously.

My emotions are fickle like the weather but consuming like the ocean.  I’m exhausted, getting pleasure from less and less.

Boredom is the ever present enemy, a wretched killjoy I fight with a diminishing sword. I cut myself in the process, OUCH! damn, I kinda like that.  I want to feel…anything. No longer do I appreciate just good experiences, ANY experience will do. It seems better than the all consuming boredom that leers over me like an undertaker.

The phenomenal things become as routine as drive thru, instatiable hunger.  I’m distracted by distractions when participating in distractions. I’m a fragile fire failing to catch on the big logs. Each consecutive gust of wind enflames me  but leaves me smaller  needing more tinder. Always Tinder..too much..Tinder.  Interchangable faces, same conversation, dull, empty, melodramatic. What else do I need to do, to see, to taste, to consume, to fuck? Whatever happened to less is more? This incessant gormandizing makes me feel fat.  Overindulged and overstimulated, a product of my environment. I have none of the answers and all of the questions. you will FAIL if you cheat off my test.

My meadering thoughts at night in a hostel in Ukraine. Lviv a place where outside the city center is purgatory with a silver lining.  The food is great, the beer is cheap and the nighclubs are a cornicopia of Anna Kournikovas. A traveler across 50 countries. I’m done. Purpose is not something it is everything…

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