I wonder how many more days will there be where I awake to the sound of a lawnmower humming.

I often ask myself when I'm laboring at mass genocide in my front yard, "What good am I doing? Where does this event figure into the mass network of things?" It's liking pissing in the wind, you know where this is all going to end up. My few swipes at the layers of crap grass, moss, various weeds, and a minute amount of true honest to god grass will be futile in just a few days. My mother can be proud of her meticulous yard and home for one more day. She can feel that all is right with the world because she can have her lunch to Regis and Kelly while staring at her birds feasting on sunflower and thistle seeds that are kept on a post in that immaculate yard. She is free from the slings and arrows of neighborly disapproval for one more day. She reaches a calm and placated state most zen buddhists would long for.
It's infectous you know? The dull pacification that comes from having purpose. I gain it when I cut her lawn, take out her trash, etc, etc. Oddly enough this revelation I'm working on was started by a porno and a flash flood. In the middle of watching the creek behind my house wash away what is left of my back yard, a terrible fear overcame me. It was this horrible compulsion to hang on, to not let nature be. I couldn't stop that creek as much as I could stop that aforemetioned piss from smacking me in the face. Yet I wanted God or whomever could to stop it and became angered when it didn't. I was terrified that I might lose something. After consideration, I've realized that's all I've been concerned about since I've been home, not losing something and continuing having what I want/need.
We all do it though. We all try to fucking ice skate up hill. I heard that love was a chemical imbalance that harbored the illogical actions needed for compulation. Even the nature of biology, the shared fate of life, struggles against the oblivating tide of eternity. Finding god, finding her, finding your face in your child...they will all fail. Fucking and cumming on the hottest chick you know, eating that next meal to stay alive, building empires or huts, working a job you hate to have things that you won't have one day...they are all silent screams in the grand scope of it all. The reverberations will always be too small to hear. Why can't we just exist. We do for some reason and I think we fail to see it every day. It's not utterly apparent and too hard to figure out, so we make it up as we go along, feigning that we know every line but never had read the script. It's like you wake up one day and the spotlight is one you, following you wherever you go. You feel this cosmic attention focused on you and you have no clue what it wants from you. You try as you might to satisfy it. But it never goes away. I can have your soul for one night and what then? I'm tired of being creative about what to do before I die. I just want to be and see what happens. Have armies rage around me, lovers love around me, and worlds rise and fall around me and just watch. I'm tired of yelling into the unsounding abyss. I'm going to be quiet.