The following is a guest post by a friend of mine, Manek Singh Kohli. I have no contribution to the content of this post.
You think you’re part of something. Someone. A bunch. A whole. Like a point on a circle. Anywhere. Be it the fringes or the centre. Maybe outside of it. But still, a part of it. You’re happy there. Why wouldn’t you be? It’s a circle we’re talking about. Infinite sides. An unlimited expanse. And you’re a part of it. And you could be anywhere on it. But you’ve done drugs. So now it’s a sphere. When it reaches half-life, perhaps it’s a hemisphere. But you’re still a point. You can’t split a point into two. You could erase it. But not entirely. Its impression remains. In roman numericals and empty sidelines. Like the gutter of a bowling alley. A ten pin tragedy. You’re a point. But there’s no point to you. There never was. You can be the whole circle if you want, but don’t go expecting anything. Eat salad if you like. No one cares. Do you get the point? You won’t. There wasn’t one to begin with.