Like A Memory It Falls...
Most days it doesn’t make a god damned bit of sense, we just do it. Just like the commercial, we just do it. And that’s fine to us, because it doesn’t have to make sense…for some reason, it doesn’t have to make sense. That’s the weird thing. Why doesn’t it have to make sense? If anything, it should make some sense. Even if it’s just a bit. We do this and that, and it makes no impact on history or existence or life but we continue on as we are; we continue on when we are sad inside and hoping to create a safe place here so that when we go it won’t be for naught. For naught in what way though? We are so scared of not dieing that we never end up living. What is this big house going to do for my level of enjoyment here on earth. If those sheep are right and there is something else, why are we so concerned with this here world we see? If it’s the end that we seek, why don’t we do things that will put us closer to that happiness? Why don’t we jump out of airplanes and juggle chain saws and walk around in the dark. “but that is life. If nothing else, that’s life, ya know? It’s real, and sometimes it fucking hurts. But ya know, it’s sorta all we have.” It’s sorta all we do. More than anything…we live. The one true thing that holds true throughout our lives is that we live - breathing and heart pumping and junk, not all actually live. But, god damnit, I would like to fucking live and feel something else than this mundane shit that is “life” to me at this moment. I can truly understand how those people go crazy and end up killing their coworkers. It’s very taxing to have to agree with whatever a person says to you when you absolutely couldn’t disagree more. It’s frustrating to have to talk to people that think that you are nothing. To be honest, I am nothing, but I’m the same as you, so who are you? NOTHING. I can think of all these clever little things like, “worse pays for the better” and “I have a (broken) promise ring” and things about my gas fueled coffin, and they make sense to me and mean something to me in my life. Someone else could look at them and see just words. A “real” thing makes a meaning in my life. These words have a part in my life, and more than that house, they do actually have an impact on history and existence and the like. It may not be for the world’s but for mine. They are just words and we speak them everyday; we tell people words and hope that these words communicate to the other person what it is that we feel or think or whatever. But the truth is that they are just words and the other person will never actually know what it is that you are trying to tell them. Just like you, reading this now, will not understand it as I wish that you would. I need to get away. “Life” isn’t living right now…it’s dieing.
CHEERS!!
CHEERS!!