Drying out the wings

I would be lying if I said I didn't see it coming. Amid the cacophony of daily life, the melody of the stars refused to be drowned out. I listened to it without hearing; one didn't need to be an astrologer to understand what was coming. Despite my vigilance, I left the doors of the fortress wide open. I didn't close the floodgates. Time did the rest.

The last two weeks of near silence following the termination of employment have relentlessly undermined the cliffs that should be my existence. Nothing is less certain than life; everyone knows that. If it's written in the sky, no one is there to read it except oneself. It's not the great death, just a tiny ending, almost a painful orgasm, so to speak, hopefully enlightening the gaze. Luckily, I still have those fleeting pleasures.

I tend to imprison myself in dreams. Although I am a faithful worker, I do not possess the abstract science conferred upon ants. Great qualities are attributed to me, but I don't see them. I don't recognize myself in the mirror, a grasshopper revelling in the present moment, loving the sweet debauchery of supposed poetry or wisdom.

However, that doesn't pay the bills. I urge myself to regain the spirits that seem to have forgotten me. The old angel has fallen, stunned by his fall. He will have to dry his wings and continue. His pride is dead; long live nudity. His wings, I am wished with honest comforts, will unfold again.

As a lover of possibilities, I must embrace uncertainty like a blank canvas to paint a few more brushstrokes. Creativity is not just a means of escape; it's a lifeline - a way to navigate the treacherous waters of uncertainty and emerge stronger on the other side.

ChatGPT inspired this previous paragraph. I changed all the words because the robot doesn't have an authentic style. It doesn't soar so high, not in the skies I inhabit. Its intelligence is dull and unappealing, regurgitating a purely lexical logic. It only helps fill out forms and churn out Hollywood scripts.

At least, being a visual person, I can relish the flights of fancy that my "prompts" create with the help of these machines. How do you explain that in a résumé? How do you live?

I'll figure it out.

There's too much I can still accomplish. Can anyone help, or do I have to reinvent myself all alone? Asking the question is answering it.

Indeed, I am needed. Father, if you are in heaven, if heaven exists, or if anything of you exists, gather with the council of our ancestors and press the right buttons for me, my family, and all of humanity.

And then, the happiness of others must be nurtured to drink from it in turn.

I owe it to myself to rewind the all-mechanical clock of my bones. This text might never conclude if I don't put the final period on it.