Two words were scrawled out upon a throw away piece of paper today. Perhaps I had imagined some profound flood to arrive upon their later consumption. That the flicker of an idea thread would weave its way to something greater when revisited, laying low the haze of perception to reveal some universal truth.

A rather stupid prospect, indeed. But one I never seem to tire of. And with a lack of any other conceivable starting point at the moment, it is with those words I stumble through this.

Legacy and lethargy.

Addicted to my own mythos, the former is always an idea floating through the ether of my sentience. Despite the fact that when broken down pragmatically, the person to whom legacy is most unaffected is the concerning party in its path. In order for legacy to even come into play, the individual of origin must have the prerequisite of perishing from this earth. From dust, to worm food, etc. Yet still knowing that, my obsession seems ever present, albeit waxing and waning from time to time. To insufferable heights, at times, but never less than at least an ember. The echo of some flame, still somehow dancing with eternity.

Legacy is for those left behind. Meaning, in core principle, that some leaving must be gotten at first.

Lethargy, in an exquisite, if not ironic contrast, is very much for the being existing in person. From the right angle, life is little more than the consumption of energy being burned on the way from abyss and back. Yet such inactivity claws and tears at my consciousness. Shame arises with ease when any lack of forward momentum occurs, no matter how necessary for survival it may be.

The plague of mortals wasting time to become something endless.

It is why I keep coming here. It is why after playing for three hours in one city in one state, I felt compelled to stop in another city in another state, to showcase my music to those who would have it. It doesn’t help that the dividends paid by the decision held a fairly heavy potency. Or, perhaps, it does.

That is the argument I am staggering towards, I suppose. The struggle of chasing ambition to be served after this existence fades from my particular identity. The concern to create as an antithesis to a more simple state of being. A state which mystics and religious icons have claimed the most divine of minds. To be present, in space and time, as it occurs according to our senses.

And yet, as always, the clouds call and off my head goes.

There is a story that I’ve been reading. A good one. And in this story, there is a library. And in this library are all the works that were never made. Contained within it are the conceptions that never met completion. And all those books are said to be wonderful, according to the people in this story. Andy they are expert opinions.

A compelling concept, were I to ask myself. And asking myself is all I ever manage to do here.

It invites the idea of some sort of tainting. To sully something by bringing it into existence. Removing it from its perfection of never being and dragging it down to our lowly mortal plane. Doomed to be unmade in glory by being achieved.

And still, as much as I can ponder the beauty of that which will never be- onward I press to put something down. Here. And in some many other ways. And if it is a flaw, I cannot shake its air of the quasi-divine. Or at the very least, the compulsion of some programming beyond my ability for comprehension. A thing many an earthly creature place akin to god, or gods, etc. Past, present, and afterward as well.

But if lethargy is for me, I must keep from gluttony. And if legacy is for others, I’d better get to work. Damned be myself, but those who will be here beyond? It would be unjust to leave anything worse off than where I stand beside in time.

The abandonment of self-indulgence for the benefit of others? Oh, how martyr-ific of you. That blend of narcissistic masochism you seem to have set as some sort of trademark, always wandering its way back in. A show. A façade. And far from the realm of actual importance.

But better I work out these flaws now, than let them pass on.