Special

We think we want to be special but what does it mean to be special?

It’s an assignation. It exists in the interstitial space between objects. It is a judgement of relation between things.

This is different, unique, unparallelled.

But once you see you’re special so what. Each snowflake is unique but does the snowflake get anything out of it?

So i’m special. I’m awesome. So what. The awesomeness is a tag put on at the end. The little bow on the top of the hamper that lets us know that the contents are worth something.

But in the enjoyment of the hamper, as it’s consumed there’s no consumption of the awesome. It’s carried over. That will be awesome. That is awesome. That was awesome.

Specialness.

We don’t really want it.

It’s tat.

What we really want is mum to hold us in her arms like she did when we were young. 

We want to play in the mud with each other again. Have that intense interaction with one another children have so easily when they are constructing twig dams and rolling down hills.

We’ve had it denied to us through our conditioning. We’ve lost play and been taught to want to be special.

We’re all consumed by the drive to get (what turn out to be) tags. Accolades. Estimations.

We’ve forgotten it’s ourselves who are the consumers of ourselves. We have to enjoy being us whatever accolade we’re given.

I may be miserable but at least… at least what. Fuck it whatever it is. But i tried, but i’m strong, but i’m different.

No no no fuck it truly into the ground. They’re fictions and we’re real. Don’t bargain yourself away for a tatty accolade enjoy yourself.

Enjoy your self!

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