Of Many things and Nothing

-What are you writing about this time?
I said I write of many things and nothing.

-What does that mean?
I said nothing in response.
-What does that mean?
She repeated her question in a pleading tone. I said nothing. I knew nothing. I looked to the sky and saw the clouds. They gathered in clusters. They formed a colorless eye and their gaze rained down upon me where I stood. I felt shame. I felt sweat trickling into my eyes. I stared into the eye of the sky and it stared back into my mind. The stare awakened deep within the dimly lit halls of my consciousness an acute awareness of the past and the present and the future, all working in unison and all serving one another. Present always a slave to the past, future tied to a pole by the uncertainties of the present. The eye of the world stared through time. Silence nestled between the seams and cracks of tenement buildings

-What do you mean by many things and nothing?
I spoke to her of my revelation about the past and the present and the future, and how they are all so cruel to each other, and that many misfortunes are caused because time is a confused entity. She said she did not understand my words. I said I did not either. The silence of our surroundings dominated her unspoken words. She stared at pedestrians crossing the street and I laughed at my own consciousness and my own fruitless thoughts.

-You should help that old lady carry her bags across the street.
I said okay and walked to the intersection where the old woman stood, her chest heaving heavily like the beast that heaved beneath the hurrying feet of all pedestrians. I held her bags and she smiled and said that I am a nice man and that I must have been raised by a good family. I smiled and nodded and waited for the light to turn green. Then I began to cross and at the halfway point I had to pause and wait for the lady to catch up.
Walk. Pause. Wait. Wait. Walk. Pause. Stop.
Another smile crawled onto the old lady's wrinkled visage. She said thank you and God bless you and I smiled and waved and crossed the street.

-How nice of you to do what you did!
I smile and look at the sky. The clouds are no longer there. The clouds are always adrift and afloat. I am chained to the ground by the eye of judgment. I am mad and tethered to the ground like a wild beast. There is a beast that heaves beneath the feet of all beings. A day will come where the beast opens its mouth to swallow us all. Then there will be no good or bad, no black or white, no right or wrong. There will be nothingness. We will be stationary no longer. Our souls will be adrift just like the clouds in the blue sky.

-One day we should leave this country and go live in France! I can teach English and you can work on your writing!
I say sure. I write of many things and nothing.
I look up and see the clouds. A cluster of clouds, gathered in the same spot as before. The eye is there again. To whom does the eye belong? To the serpent or the sky? To the master or the slave? To the city or to God? It matters naught, for our destruction is teetering on the edge of horizon.

-Don't be so negative. You're an amazing person and you deserve to be happy. All you have to do is stop complaining and do something with your life! Pursue your passion!
I say sure. I will pursue the passion of thinking about many things and nothing. I will pursue the passion of helping others only to feel good about my futile existence, just to see flashes of admiration in the eyes of strangers as I walk down the streets. I will pursue happiness also, for what good is passion without happiness? Passion in and of itself is useless, it is merely a bridge to happiness. But where to look for happiness? It is written all over the billboards. It is written on the shop windows. It is written on a Starbucks coffee cup. It is painted on tenement walls. It is hidden beneath layers of misery that only an idealist could peel off. It is fueled by every ideology that has driven mankind to this point in history.

-So, what do you say?
I say sure, we will do whatever makes you happy. I look up and see the clouds. I feel the eyes again. The eyes of the sky. The eyes of this city. The eyes of God. The eyes of drivers and pedestrians. The eyes of lust. The eyes of love. The eyes of judgment. The eyes of doom. I stand in the middle of the street. Cars begin to swerve to avoid hitting me, to avoid ending a human life. Behind me I hear her scream. Others run to where I stand. Will they watch or drag me away? I laugh at my own insignificance and self-loathing and immaturity. I look up and the clouds are gone. I look down and the cars have all stopped and I hear the sound of horns and whistles overwhelm the silence of before. People run towards me with horrified looks upon their faces. At the edge of the world, I see the invisible hand of destruction retreating just a few yards.