nonsense november.
There is a sound from behind me and I whirl to see a man in a suit stepping out of the doorway to the stairs rummaging through his pocket to bring forth a small white box. The box contains sticks of poison, one of which he puts between his lips with a practiced motion and ignites with a flame, beginning the slow process of killing himself. I snap a picture of his conscious suicide. Hearing the whizz-click of my camera he looks up from his cupped hand and raises an eyebrow in question. I quickly stride past him before he can say a word, dash down the stairwell, through the office building and exit the transparent doors into the ant world.
It’s a really brilliant feeling to think you mean something to a stranger. To think that they’ve been all around this crazy world and they see hundreds of people a day and still their eyes rest fondly on you. They pick you out from a cluttered room and decide they want to get to know more about you. They can’t lose you, can’t let you keep scurrying like a little ant around their feet. Sometimes they just want to stand next to you, to take solstice in the warmth of your hand to help them feel grounded. We’re really all just floating in space, you know? Like on this really big chunk of rock going round and round and round forever. And sometimes it makes you dizzy. And you can feel a little lost. It’s a comforting feeling to know other people feel lost too, you can’t really be alone.
