Post no. 1, in which Connor eats a hamburger and finds himself in the throes of an existential crisis

Okay. Uh, I have to write an article. Why do I have to write an article? Because me and my friend Ben got really motivated one night and decided that we were going to put voices to our thoughts and work on making those thoughts more coherent, focused, and palatable to a general audience. We got all excited, as usual, and set some deadlines and made some notes, and we each went home, I have no doubt, and thought with broad strokes and imagined our figures on the latest talk show, expounding fantastic and revolutionary opinions and everyone will certainly love us in the future, will love me and my magnanimous philosophies I am sure, as soon as I go through the work of writing them down, and learning to get better as such.
I don’t really have to write an article, but I’m forcing myself to do so anyways. You see, I’ve done this before. I have a long history of working myself up to do some great thing, sitting down to do it, and then chickening out. Is it a matter of courage? I don’t actually know- I don’t know what it is that perhaps prevents me from carrying out the schemes I set out to do all the way, down to the letter. I used to think I was a perfectionist, but then I’ve never finished a project to call perfect, so I can’t really say. What I do know is that I must power through now, through whatever it is that holds me back, until I think whatever I’m doing loses whatever magical future quality that made it worth doing, and becomes the garbage of the real.
As I’m writing this I’m eating a hamburger. A juicy, salty, charbroiled hamburger between fluffy, pillowy buns, dripping with ketchup and mustard and glazed with melted cheddar and I love hamburgers. Fast food is my vice. I seek it out, creating a fantastic narrative where I haven’t had any in so long it’s alright. It’s alright to be bad here, and give yourself what you want Connor, you deserve it. You live in a hard world. So I go and get these things and smell them and at that point staring at the waxy yellow paper surrounding it is like staring at a joint being passed to you, a syringe about to be expunged, a line being gently cut out upon glass- it’s like standing on a cliff, preparing to fall, knowing that after this moment, everything will be different. The wide blue vista encompasses your every sense. There is nothing but you and the hamburger.
But it’s suddenly so hard to chew it. The moment is gone, and the future has arrived. The hamburger is gritty, dry, dense, having been handled by a sweaty, pimply teen and tossed in a paper bag to come to you. All the realities of the world resolve upon acquiescing to your desire. And suddenly what you desire most is to be rid of it. It’s alright, though, it’s alright to toss it away, I mean, you’ve had your fun. You’re full, and you weren’t really hungry to begin with. You don’t need to finish it. You don’t need resolution, you’ve already had it.
It’s a curse of being a fourth-dimensional being, it seems, that I can’t eat my hamburger and have it too. I can’t have a delicious present, only the dream of it, and the disappointment of the past. I am literally trapped in the now, wondering about the future, wondering if the past ever existed, wondering how it is that thoughts even have a through-line. Is there a point at which a thought is not divisible, like a frame of a movie? Do emotions run at sixty frames per second or thirty? Is there ever a point- can you measure it- at which something ends, or begins? How long exactly is now? And will I ever feel sat-
Okay. All good questions. All good thoughts, Connor. You’ve done well. It’s alright, I think that’s enough for now. I mean, you’ve done so many things right. Some questions don’t have answers. Go, maybe have another hamburger. Go on. There


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