Rooms Full of Me

I’m rushing down, or up the path, I never really know. After breaking in and soon after, breaking out, it is time to go. The work is done and there is no purpose to staying. They, or I, again, I don’t really know, won’t appreciate what was done. They won’t even understand. I don’t either. I think I’m the only one who tries to. To try to know that which you do not know, is to wonder. I wonder if any of those like me, but really not like me at all, wonder too?

I hurry because I do not want to be marked. No one has made me know about the markers. I just know what it means to be marked and how to prevent it. I escape, traveling from one moment of less danger to the next. There is no where in the world I can go to that the markers can’t find me. I just have to keep moving until I can’t anymore. There is no safety. There is no home but the universe around me. All parts as unsafe as the rest. The more I think about it, the more thought and less instinct it becomes. I wonder if this is a good thing as my understanding drifts from a plain instructions to a more complicated and confusing fear. Will truly knowing why I must run and why I will die if I slow down change anything?

Yet I cannot spend all my time avoiding the markers. I have a job, a purpose. It used to be the only other thing I would know and do. That and not being marked and destroyed. I need to infiltrate. I need to slip or force my way in and enter my code. I know not what it really is, or why I need to spread it, but I know what it does. When I find the rooms  that surround me, I will leave them my code. I seek both the walled ones with a structural purpose and the floating free ones with their meaningful destinations. I need to get inside them to do the only other thing I care about. After that, I need to leave before I am marked and can no longer share my code.

I stop and wait. There are no markers. There is another kind of room. This room can destroy me, but it won’t. It will not rush towards me because it does not know I am here. It moves past me. It is huge and nothing like me. It is a room and I seek to break into all rooms. But not this kind of room. I have known more than once those like me but not like me in a different way break into these rooms. It feels more purposeful than my purpose, the only other thing I care about.  Even though it is not like me or those like me at all, know this is right. To know a room I rush away from all the time can be infiltrated by those like me but not like me. To know that it will soon die and from the destruction, help other rooms like it die. Maybe it is because I fear these killer rooms, that I go back to this in my wonderings and knowings. Even after it happened.

These are the rooms I never want to be inside. These are the killer rooms. Sometimes they find a part of the world and stay there for a while. They start out like the free rooms most of the time. They float, they look, they seek those like me. There are many like me. I am like the many who travel the world and share their code. The killer rooms do not like this. They are monsters who kill us without thought, without question. I wonder if they know what they are doing? I wonder if they wonder like I do? I wonder if the many I am like and who are like me wonder too?

The killer rooms do not know of all of us like me all the time. They only killed the marked ones. They rush towards us and pull us inside of them. We fall apart in here, torn to pieces piece by pieces. I once knew of that happening, to a marked one like me, as it happened. It was the first time I did not feel like I knew what I thought I knew. It was the first time I knew what it was to be afraid. I escaped. It did not seek me because I was not marked. I must never be marked. If I am marked, I will be destroyed. I will be destroyed if I am not marked too, but this destruction will happen sooner. I will feel it far, far more. It is the first of only two things I only care about. Or maybe three?

I find a room I can use. There is no opening or exit. Its walls are designed to keep it all inside. Yet there is an inside, there is a destination. I climb on top of it. It is huge. Not huge like the killer room but still huge to me. I seek to break into so many of these rooms. To ruin their purpose and end their lives. Yet they either stay and do their job or float towards their purpose. With or without me. I wonder if they know I am alive? Would that be better? For them, or for me? Sometimes I feel like I should not have killed a room. Yet I keep doing that.

I slide the piece of me that I push my code through into the room. It makes its way to the center, passing where the room keeps it things. I know not what these things are. I only know they are not part of my purpose. Yet I wonder. They wind and turn. They grow and they shrink. They share and share to help, not hurt like I do. They seem to move pieces of the world that are inside of the room around to where they need to be. They are almost like a smaller version of the world. I know energy jumps around the room. I know the room split into two and more. I have even known a room become like me. It changes and divides more than the world wants it to. The markers mark it and the killer rooms kill it. With more and faster purpose than they kill those like me. That almost feels right too. Like the rooms that once had purpose who lost their purpose can hurt the world. That they can make it harder for me to do what I’m supposed to do for longer. I wonder too, am I hurting the world?

I share my code with the center of the room. It has it’s own wall, like the part of the room I am holding onto. It too has no entrance, no exit, but a destination. I have known many centers. They are like us but not like us. They are a part of the world. The world accepts them, needs them to be. The world would not be the world without its rooms and its rooms would not be rooms without the centers. Yet the center, or really, the center of the center, is like us. It is not like us but it is like us. A part of us. It is a code. Just a code. Not a code that wanders and breaks into rooms. It is a code that was made inside the room. It was a code that made the room too. I know, but I don’t know how it can be made inside and make the inside at once. But it does.

Although this code I seek to share my code with is like me but not like me, it does not want my code. My code changes it. It stops making the room be and keeping the room there. It starts making me. Those like me but not like me. I make rooms full of me. Me. Me. Me. Yet not me. I know them but do they know me? Many times, I know I meet those like me but not like me. I know what they are by their code but I do not know if I made them, or they made me? Did I help create them or am I their creation? Sometimes I know those like me but not like me a different. They look damaged, or worn away. They have had more time happen to them. The word we live in and remake is a giant slow, killer room. The only world we can live in is tearing us away. Even if the killer rooms don’t destroy me, I know I will fall apart. Much slower and much smaller. Bit by bit. Sometimes I can think I know if those like me but not like were once from me by how damaged they are. But I don’t know. I never really know. I mostly do.

The those like me but not like me I created with this room are becoming many. They fill this room, pushing it to it’s edges. The room splits and many, many, of those like me but not like me escape. They kill the room.  I call them like me but not like me because I don’t think they know me. I don’t think they know each other. I think I was once like them because I did not know. Or, I did not know what I did not know. I had only instructions, instinct. I sought rooms with centers I could copy my code with and I escaped markers. I don’t know when I started to know there were things I did not know. It just happened and now, here I am, without answers. Without knowing how to even seek these answers. I know only how to seek results. To seek rooms, to seek codes, and to escape markers.

I move near one of those I created. It is like me but not like me. It seems so new. It has no damage like the damage I have known in ones like me but not like me. Do I have damage? I must have had some for I have been moving and breaking into the rooms of the world for a long time. Does it know I have damage? Does it know I created it? It rushes away from me. Not out of fear but purpose. It must find rooms. It must share its code. Our code. The code I used to make it. I wonder if I should be like it. To only know what I know and never wonder. But I don’t think I can do that.

All of the me I created leave. I am the only me I know near me. There are more rooms to seek. More codes to share. And markers to escape. I know only to escape the markers and how. Not how they mark me. What a marked me is like. I fear I will never know if I escaped a marking. I know now, something I did not know before. This is new to me. When I was like those who are  not like me, I knew what I knew. I did not know there were things I did not know. I did not know there possibly could be things to not know. I knew all I knew was all I could know. It was all there was to know. I know now there is more to know. I know now I know more and seek to know even more.

And what I now know is this; I can never stop escaping. If I will never know if I am marked or not, I can never wait near a killer room. The one short time I would spend, between escaping, infiltrating, and sharing my code, can never happen again. I must always be escaping or sharing my code. Maybe I can still try to know the things I do not know, but I wonder if this third thing I could care about has a purpose? Will wondering, will exploring what I don’t know help? Will it fill me with purpose? I have none but I to wonder this with. I have none but I to share my knows with. At least that I know of.

I sometimes wonder if I should just stop. If I should let a marker mark me, and a killer room take me inside. To end the endless infiltrating of rooms, code forcing, and making more of me. I feel the purpose that makes my purpose has no purpose behind it. I know I will only know the space surrounding a purpose’s purpose. I can feel only there should have been a bigger feels for me to know that I do not. The feel I feel the most, the feel I both know and do not know is my fear.

Fear. To know I can and will be destroyed and to not want that. Either by time, or the killer rooms, I will be destroyed. Sometimes I feel I don’t want that so much and sometimes I just want it to happen. To end this feel by ending all feels. To not know this by not knowing anything and everything. To let the killer room take me inside, and destroy me with it’s insides.  

Yet I can’t. At least, I don’t know I can’t. I don’t know what I can do. I have spent so long breaking in and forcing my code, I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know what I can know. Maybe there is more to know than that which I fear. Maybe there are those like me who are like me. Maybe they know there are things they don’t know. Maybe they know they can know more than what they have always know. Maybe we can share our knows and that which we feel.

This too makes me fear. It makes me fear the fear I will never know this. I fear I will be destroyed before I know if there are those like me who are really like me. There is now more than one thing I am afraid of. It feels…right. Maybe I can never stop being afraid of destruction. But maybe I can fear it less by knowing there is more I can fear.  

I don’t know. I want to know but I don’t need to know. I can still be me and not know. I can still know some things and wonder about the rest.

I will.

For as long as I can.