MONEY ISN'T HELPFUL

Money isn't helpful. Friendships wither and die. Pets, one's sense of accomplishment, the energy recuperated by sleeping and eating, all these things wither or diminish and there is nothing, I don't believe, to be gained by my restating this.

What if even just for now there is nothing to console me? What if even just for now the very notion of consolation has become transparent, laughable? What if there is no such thing as wisdom, only wit, and I am relatively witless? What if we really are completely isolated in the small huts of our psychology, ideation, hoped for things, fears? What if we have no shared map of the topography of experience, desire, remorse? What if there is no "x" because there is not one shared spot to mark?