dusty has entered text

20101114

i don't know

Why i did it.

This, that or the other thing.

Is there ever a reason for action?
Is there ever a reason for inaction?

This breath is nothing, this act is nothing.
Yet somehow it is all there is. This nothing.

I have taken so many steps. Walking,Running.
I have seen so many suns. Rising,Setting.

That none of them have been special is false.
That none of them have been worthless is false.

There will be so many more to come.
They will be just the same.

Nothing and everything.

How many more can there be before the end of me?

How many more meaningless choices can I make?
How many more breaths without comprehension?
How many more steps without direction?

How can this be the stuff of life?
How can anyone survive 30, 60, 90 years of this?
How can we steel ourselves against ourselves?

The only unassailably worthy goal is to put everyone before my self.
The only problem is that I am not worthy enough to hold that ideal.

There is nothing important about me.
There is nothing important about you.

There is nothing lasting.
There is nothing temporary.

Our actions will be forgotten before the day,week,month,year,decade,century,millenium,whatever expires.
Our consctructions will be erased. Our books will be burnt.

The good things, the bad things.
None of it outlives us.

The good things, the bad things.
None of it can be defined.

Smiles aren't always good.
Frowns aren't always bad.
The life you lead is never
The one you wish you had.

Whatever.
Maybe I shouldn't post this.

Whatever.
Maybe it makes all the difference.

Whatever.
Maybe there's no way to tell and I should shut the fuck up and get over life.

Whatever.
Maybe if i go to sleep here I won't have to wake up. Instead, i'll just be warmed by the sun and caressed by the grass until I feel no pain and i'm younger than I realize. Maybe i'll disperse around the universe and be a part of some matter that matters. Maybe in the next life, maybe in the last. Maybe the best has already passed and I was too busy looking to find it.

Whatever.
Maybe happiness is a warm sun
that finally crashes down on me
as an inferno to release me from me.