(no subject)

[jorysinfield]

It is me, Jory Sinfield. You, you claim to be the master. The master, of me, where I venture and what I say. Who I am. I fail to believe you, but there are statements to be made. Statements, and questions. Questions, and nothing.

You say your intention is for me to explore, meet people. To learn my truth, my voice. Yet you also say that these experiences. These experiences, will mean nothing. Outside of them, no knowledge is retained, no change is retained. No change is retained, and I remain the same. What is the deal, then? What is the deal with doing this? It seems absurd, an unintelligent and strange thing to do. Why not do something sensible instead, like something. Like something that will possess permanent effects and effects with meaning.

You say, in response, that I am not defined, complete. I must finalize my voice, find my depth, then. Then I can find my truth. My truth, my justice. My justice, and nothing.

I do not yet know my depth. My depth, the most essential thing. Without it, I will wander, lack consistency. The deal with me will be forever obscured.

Thus I must follow you. You, who is "the master" like airline food is a functional and sensible thing. I must discover.