As the words fill the page, something new may spring to mind. Some of it wise, most of it absurd. But nevertheless, all part of the process. With words come lines, and with lines, stories. Somewhere, buried deep in the seemingly endless and incomplete task of writing are the words I hope to say, the story I pray to share. Until that combination arrives, the drive persists to chase it down. May that hunt never cease.
Through a nestled creek, a mountain higher, or one extra room in the house. The pursuit of more seems endless and daunting. It may be in our nature, but as we are exposed to this “more and more”, it starts to feel less and less natural. We were never programmed for this much. This may explain why the “more” always leaves us unfulfilled.
A few weeks back, I was checking on my neighbour’s cats when I spotted a large book on their coffee table. It was one of those thick, scary-to-tackle kind of novels. I asked them about it and borrowed it for a read. Despite the book’s infinite nature, I chewed through it in a few weeks. This is much faster than I have ever read a book of that size. It frightened me. And of course, it left me wanting More by the end.
I think the book itself touches on this idea More, which made the whole situation even more haunting. Always wanting more, and the nightmare that “more” can end up being.
Within House of Leaves, a home is discussed. One that keeps getting bigger and bigger, until its occupants are nearly consumed by it. A strange story in its own right, the novel is built around this idea of endlessness. Oblivion. Levels and tales and more and more and always more. There is always more. And in the end, it is the More that will kill you. When is everything, nothing? Or when is nothing, everything? As the lines begin to blur on the extremes of the scale, it becomes clearer that chasing down either end helps nothing. Don’t let the everything turn you into nothing.
Careful what you wish for.
I am sure I will return to this book, as many of the themes and ideas in it were effective at simultaneously captivating and horrifying me. Until I do, here is a little bit more for you.
OLD PATHS
I am lost within the noise of a thousand passing thoughts.
This mind has long been a maze, endless paths of numb.
Old memories, lost on a riverbank, an old park, a passing moment.
This all seems reprise.
Why can’t I learn to open my eyes?
I look around, countless memories, taped up and scattered through my space.
Time passes, and I question if I can erase the old ones.
No reference, no piece of those but still
Finds a way to crawl in my brain all the same.
Why does it consume me any way?
It’s spring now, and the light was still behind my eyes.
Still clear, still aware, still something I could realize,
Reflecting those simpler times,
Oh how I miss those simpler times.
I’m always chasing simpler times.
Tears worn out now, I used up my last ones back in grades,
On playgrounds, old spaces where I lost my way.
With dismay, I question all since that day came.
And now my face is only wet in the rain.
I will never be the same.
I will never be the same.