WHY DOES EVRYTHING ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING HARD!
I don't know, I realy don't. Maybe it's a test. People always tell me that suffering is one of god's tests. I've never believed it, but they're just as likely right as me. Maybe it's all part of some divine plan and you're the next messiah.
Maybe it's not hard. Maybe you just make it hard.
Maybe it is hard, but no harder than anyone else's life. Maybe it's hard for all of us, but you speak what we all feel, and so you're The Poet, the voice of the age.
Maybe it is harder than everyone else's life. Maybe you suffer more because you are a true artist like Van Gogh and a true genius like Galileo and so you have to suffer more because your brain takes in more and gives out more like all of history's great artists and geniuses.
Maybe your just a self-centered twit who's deluded himself into thinking he's somehow special, but really you're just another, well, just another brick in the wall, as it were.
Maybe there is a cosmic scale, and you suffer more now because you've known or will know more joy, and joy of that magnitude is expensive in this universe.
Maybe we live in the matrix and if we didn't suffer our brains wouldn't accept the program as reality and so it needs to be hard in order for us to believe we are alive because we measure our existance in misery.
Maybe it needs to be hard in order to be real. Maybe if it wasn't hard we would be living in some Huxlian society with no real thought or feelings of any kind, a bunch of numb, mindless insectoid beings with no past and no future and no present worth living. Maybe a life of sorrow is the only kind worth living. (can you tell i was raised catholic?)
Maybe we're all just collections of molecules and what happens in our lives has as much to do with brownian motion and electron orbitals as anything else, and the heisenberg principle is the only unbroken rule and everything is random doesn't matter because in a million years the sun will go nova and spotted owls and elephants and pandas and people and love and war and poetry and crayons will all cease to exist and no one will remember any of it so why the fuck do we bother with anthing at all?
I don't have the answers. I wish I did. If I did, i'd share them with you all. Even though literature tells me that whenever supernatural beings with The Answers share them with mere mortals really bad shit happens, i'd tell you anyway. then we could sit back and laugh at the destruction of the world from our beach chairs of mutual enlightenment.
But i'm not that being. I'm just another miserable idiot trying to figure things out. I don't know what I'm doing either or why i'm doing it. I just know that i need to keep on doing. maybe staving off boredom is the only real motivation. Maybe all we ever do in this life is postpone death. maybe there's a song or a poem somewhere in all this babble but i'm too lazy or too dense to write it and it doesn't matter anyway because it will evaporate with the planet in a million years.
Or maybe it doesn't matter what happens a million years from now. maybe all that matters is what happens today. maybe since we can't predict the future all we can do is live in the moment and screw the long-term vision. maybe all that matters is what we feel right here, right now. maybe we should chuck all our responsibilities to the wind with the dandelion seeds, smoke some pot and shag like bunnies on viagara.
who really knows anything? never believe anyone who tells you they know more than you do. especially if they have a vested interest in selling their beliefs. (all priests of all religions fall into this category.) we're all equally clueless on this miseable morass of a planet.
personally, i'm all about the simple things. sunrises, ice cream, hamsters, spooning, blowing the seeds off dandelions, dog slobber, moss, skinny dipping, a hard row, a good book, a heavy sleep, a hot cuppa, a long cry, a long back, a long glance, a purple bikini, vivaldi's string concertos, coffee with a friend, anything that makes the moment worth staying in just another second or two. when it comes down to it, what else is there, really?
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