Where are we? What are we doing?
It's time we stopped asking these questions.
Because no matter how hard we try, no matter what, there will be no answers.
It all starts with a "want", a desire. And there is a pattern to it.
Haphazard maybe, but everything has a pattern.
So, we never love what we have and always want what we can never get.
This is a strange power equation that chance or destiny exercises on us.
In order for chance or destiny to exist there has to be this gap between, "wanting" and "having."
It is the crux of its existence.
But what is being minced in the middle is the existence of a form that is termed, "human."
We have all these words that express the presence of so many things. Words like "table" or "hand" or "love", but the truth is that words can never establish their being. Words produce sounds and sounds may differ even every time you say it. So is it a table or is it a thable or thaible? Is that four legged thing lying around in the house any of this? Or is it all of this?
So does this thing really exist? Does it exist only because it is there in front of you in physical form? Then what about love, pain, anger, angst? Do they not exist because they are intangible, because they don't exist in physical form? So if we question the existence of any one, we are questioning existence itself.
"Your life is what you make." (Waking Life)
But life is like the time spent on a treadmill. You can walk, you can run, you can speed but you ain't getting anywhere. We all choose our pace and some choose to go against the direction (So much more effort needed) and that is probably the capacity to which we can design/make our life. The problem is that whoever the hell put you on that treadmill, now you've got to run. You give up, you end the show. So what are we crying over, what are we searching for so frantically? In reality we are what is the junky sitting around the trashcan, the gypsy on her next bus, the stock broker in his glass cabin, the mother of impossible children, the senile old man, the infant, the brave, the broken, the righteous, the sinner, the saint. We are the owner of infinite futility and It, my dear friends, is called life.
