Hallelujah
Where do you pick up after all the silence? I wish I could come here and croon love songs again, or whistle at the world I watch. The tuth is,however, that a lot of what once was is now lost, you know? A person writes to remember things; consequently when there is no desire for memory there is no desire to write. Perhaps that's why I keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
Is it laziness or love? Sloth or devotion? Fear or loyalty? What keeps me out of the normal running of youth is a preoccupation and I often doubt my convictions as to what it is about.
The plan was so simple. It seems that I lacked what game theorists call a "strategy," which includes a "complete, contingent plan". My avarice and pride led me to discount the inevitability of failure. I have since been enlightened: It is all just a string of failed expectations. You can resist, but it makes you a martyr or a malcontent.
***
So, you go to a party. You meet someone nice. You talk, you dance, you laugh, all with them, and when you leave you feel somewhere between avenged and dissatisfied because you managed to do what a person did to you back to them (even if they wouldn't give two tugs if you told them), but nothing fills the enourmous tunnel your devotion has excavated in your chest, nothing compares.
Is it laziness or love? Sloth or devotion? Fear or loyalty? What keeps me out of the normal running of youth is a preoccupation and I often doubt my convictions as to what it is about.
The plan was so simple. It seems that I lacked what game theorists call a "strategy," which includes a "complete, contingent plan". My avarice and pride led me to discount the inevitability of failure. I have since been enlightened: It is all just a string of failed expectations. You can resist, but it makes you a martyr or a malcontent.
***
So, you go to a party. You meet someone nice. You talk, you dance, you laugh, all with them, and when you leave you feel somewhere between avenged and dissatisfied because you managed to do what a person did to you back to them (even if they wouldn't give two tugs if you told them), but nothing fills the enourmous tunnel your devotion has excavated in your chest, nothing compares.