Friday, February 10, 2006

To what I strive

Because I fundamentally and unfortunately believe that the origins of suffering are mysterious and therefore conventional efforts for improving ones life guarantee nothing, I have wasted years of my life. I did not discover this wholly, in one detailed narrative piece until today. And am knowing for years yet not quite knowing that there was a disturbance in my function between means and ends. I am an existentialist and a deconstructionist habituated nearly 32 years and the excavation of my nihilism is laborious.

And now, to tire you endlessly, I run with great fucking passion again, solemnly undertake the miles under clear sky like a pilgrim, knowing for one fucking second that all is as it should be and that life is sublime... that the moment of contention is worth a month of anguish. For one fucking moment all is right.

Life is all about that moment. It is in sex and death, dreaming and running.

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