Insight.

Spiritualists speak of insight achieved through stripping the physical body of necessities - through starvation, fasting, deprivation. Thus is satori achieved, sayeth the gurus - thus is revelatory revelation revealed.

Perhaps that's why I find myself, at 1.30 in the morning, deprived of sleep, suddenly understanding - with an immediacy akin to cold water - that all along I've been operating under false pretenses. And with this newfound knowledge comes clarity.


You're not my friend, let alone whatever other apellations one might have chosen to use in the past. A simple enough conclusion to reach, it seems in retrospect, because friendships don't work like this. And this isn't even some big whinge, some quiet bitch in the night - it's just fact, neither galling nor gladdening.



So I leave myself this message, a message from Timothy Harries at 1.30am, sitting atop the summit of Enlightenment, in order that I might remember, in times to come.




Friendship's different.

Hello, my old friend.

Its a skill. A muscle. A way of thinking, of acting - operating - that one loses, with time.

Time.

Your ability to write atrophies, wasting away, day by day, until you find yourself avoiding the issue entirely - which of course only serves to hasten the entire process.

Such things are not immutable, however, so here I make my stand, and vow to change!




Maybe later.