I again watched my favorite film I've seen this year, Moon. It comes at a seredipitous point in my life. While I'm sure the film would always have resonated with me, a human alone with himself on an empty landscape, it has a special meaning as I start a new life alone. While part of me feels that something has died, it more feels like I'm starting again. What do I want? What should I do with myself? These questions used to be so clear, and now they are trackless .

Like Sam, there's nothing particularly horrible about my existence. I don't fear starving, or persecution, or have to deal with any of the other awful things as do animals and the vast majority of poorer denizens of this planet. But I feel I missed my life, and that is not a good feeling. I feel my dreams have been stolen away from me, but like Sam they were never really mine to have. They were just dreams. I wished so much for them to be true, but have to deal with the reality of waking up.

I wanted someone to share my life with. Someone to be in love with, in spite of the social distortion of love and the need to procreate as a conflation. I didn't, and don't, think that it is really that much to ask. Maybe I'm wrong on this one. Its more than most people get. I don't know why I thought I was special. Maybe because I saw how it could work, could see how two people together could live in genuine contentment in alliance, and was willing on giving up so much that other people value but that never mattered much to me. But it is something I have never known. And now, the dream, that sweet dream of being young and stupid in love and growing old, as out bodies cease their beauty and we only have each other in a world of selfishness and uncaring, cold and icy drifting alone against the stars....now it won't be true.

What to do about this now that I can no longer slip into this dream again? I guess like Sam, I have to just deal with it....deal with the fact that I'm one poor monkey out of billions whose dream isn't that important to the cosmos, pick up the pieces of my life and move on. It is terrifying to be so untethered, and I have sympathy towards that majority that choses not to remember their dreams for the sadness of their absence. But I would rather have that over the pain of self-effacing lies.

But I have not pointer towards what to do. In an existence where survival and perpetuation are not paramount, what does one call a destiny? Attachment seems ... odd to me somehow. I knew I would have to give it up, but now that I have fallen off the world , I'm not sure what to do with this concious body floating in the ether.

I guess some things won't change. I'll still go to cafes and bars because it is in my nature to want people around sometimes. I'll still go for walks in the rain. I'll still write blog posts to no one in particular (so why would I do it, save that that too has become programmed?) and program and go to work and advocate my beliefs. But all of that is playing to the board. What happens outside the game? I suppose I will learn to become more an archaeologist of people, observing them, and otherwise honing myself. But for what other than my own whims and for standing against the background even while fading to it?

maybe that question has no answer