Today is one of those days I don't think I am going to make it. I tinker constantly on something too dark to mention. I am sick, alone, and facing demons that are bigger than me in all ways.
It is odd and perhaps seems absurd in this context, but I have always thought myself strong, tough, a fighter. Perhaps I was wrong, or perhaps society is wrong slinging the bullsh*t about shear will and the power of choice. I likely will never know, but if by some small chance they are wrong, I wish I could impact someone, somewhere. Maybe make one person question the judgement and assumptions so harshly place upon the misunderstood.
Will is so powerful in the circumstance for which nothing is greater. Perhaps this is the real significance in will and choice. Of course many have face so much, more than anything I have seen spotlighted in the perpetual abyss. But they are them and me myself. I apologize and seek restitution for short comings existence is too brief to overcome. I am truly sorry.
In solitude, the noise I make as my tree hits the ground, is silence. Ironic that silence now surrounds me as the background noise fades to a memory.
May I pacify my soul equally to the disease that sweeps auditory significance under the rug. Or at the very least, may I not ripple the smooth water my friends and enemies sail.
It is odd and perhaps seems absurd in this context, but I have always thought myself strong, tough, a fighter. Perhaps I was wrong, or perhaps society is wrong slinging the bullsh*t about shear will and the power of choice. I likely will never know, but if by some small chance they are wrong, I wish I could impact someone, somewhere. Maybe make one person question the judgement and assumptions so harshly place upon the misunderstood.
Will is so powerful in the circumstance for which nothing is greater. Perhaps this is the real significance in will and choice. Of course many have face so much, more than anything I have seen spotlighted in the perpetual abyss. But they are them and me myself. I apologize and seek restitution for short comings existence is too brief to overcome. I am truly sorry.
In solitude, the noise I make as my tree hits the ground, is silence. Ironic that silence now surrounds me as the background noise fades to a memory.
May I pacify my soul equally to the disease that sweeps auditory significance under the rug. Or at the very least, may I not ripple the smooth water my friends and enemies sail.
