precious lie

if only life was objective. wouldn’t a functional, rational society be better in every way? even better, what if the people made sense too.

sometimes, the underpinnings and structural programs others run aren’t readily understandable.

what makes something?

i can’t find my rhythm. as soon as i get it, the axle pops off and it’s spinning. it crashes into a highway bridge and lands on the shoulder grid.

i can’t find a seam to write in. stock market is closed but i want to trade and i don’t want to owe anything. maybe it’s the commitment to following through that’s more daunting than the actual task at hand. after all, what is typing but a series of thoughts? within that species of waves, inner dialogue is the constant. any opposing thought must surprise its entrance with a greater force than the ground wire.

occasionally, though, the plan isn’t executed. expectations fall short and big ideas are squandered. tell me, what is the principle of an individual who breaks their own?

of course, each observational example is circumstantial. some becomings were bound to occur. right?

it’s not rhetorical. i stand behind the vastly hidden powers of human will, which stand no shorter than the miracle workers. if you project success onto a day, you might end with greater returns than the alternative of bland dread.

letting go of a commitment is the easiest when planted at the bottom of the mountain. there are no views yet. the sun is not yet risen and the chill pierces through fabric and skin both. i tend to wonder why i chose such a challenge. no matter the commitment, there are periods of doubt. it’s, essentially, a habit.

if i will myself to clean such a stain, how do i begin? anything i set forth will eventually be cast in skepticism.

what transpires if i don’t do anything? well naturally, my course continues and the problem of unwanted questions persist in their hatching.

what is the space between stop and idle, and idle and go? where is the theme park i can escape to where my tenacity and resilience foam like rabid dogs? there can never be too much of a good thing. right?

could be. this blog wouldn’t be possible without the flaws and mistakes i’ve made. why write to elevate wellbeing if my wellbeing is solidly in the 800 FICO range?

have you had the chance to ask yourself where your failures brought you? to your knees, realistically. but just as literal, to above your feet, and further to hover over the loftiest arenas and city skylines.

we are impossible without defeat. we enact sacrifice to win, and require more of it to lose. so, halting the romantic motivations, where do we stand?

you? how should i know. we’re on different planes (yours higher, i’m certain). but i am close to tying together a series of words that, in the introduction, seemed impossible. defeated by a line, i gained an entire page.

were the questions just a precious lie to expand my domain? i don’t know any answers.

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

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