Why not someone needs to do it. The absurd is entertaining revealing, and often outright silly. Though it can be silly dumb and stupid. Writing because you’re doing things, on things are things is always fun, but in the end it has no meaning. The things we are and is, and was, are not, and never shall be. This is ridiculous and likely incredibly accurate at the same time.
I’m told I’m a pessimist, a realist, a crazy man, down to earth, the cool guy the geek, the nerd the loser, the aggressor, and the submissive. I’m both healthy and ill, very direct and incredibly shy. I’m things that I am and not at the same time, but in the end they are all me, or they aren’t
The point is that it is, and isn’t and was and will be but never was and couldn’t be. I’m the friend the enemy, the ally, the opposition. I’m what I need to be, and what I shouldn’t be. I know the future I know the past, and I know that I know nothing.
I’m smart and dumb, wise and foolish, things I should and should not be. But in the end I return to a point that always happens to be me. I love myself wish to live forever, hate myself wish to die right now. Will do anything to continue to exist to live to grow to strive. Am self hating, self destroying, and in the end suicidal. I will yell and scream and shout, making you know that I know. I hate and kill and destroy, to create and love and live and laugh.
I am what I have been and am not what I aren’t. I wish to be more and then hope for things to never change. I’m happy and sad, laughing and crying, eating and starving, and in the end, breathing and dying. In the end to be what is what isn’t what can’t and what won’t. But the question is the truth.
Why in the end with all these things , these happy sad glad mad, and wonderful thing, is there always the end. The sad the dark the light and hope, the futile the hopeless the beautiful the ugly. The broken and twisted, the perfect and amazing, the skilled, and clumsy. The circle goes and goes and goes. Till in the end, we all must die to live to be. The thing to know is what you are aren’t can’t wont.
Its always important, but always pointless. The life and death of hope and hopeless.