When time runs out
Theres nothing left to do but scream and shout
But even that is an exercise in futility.
So what do we as human beings do , when the minute hand stops doing us favors?
Do we invent more time? as if time is something that could be mass produced.
Do we waste time, regretting the time that we no longer have? Do we wallow in the misery of having no time left. Or do we try and make the best of the little time we have left? No matter, Time is a funny joke. You invest so much time in trying to understand the joke, so that the climax can be thoroughly enjoyed. Or at least, so we can say we understood the joke, when we've heard the punch line.
I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. And that's never a good thing. The important fact is that we all admit that nobody really has any idea what they re talking about. Merely a product of neurons firing and synapses being traversed.
Life : The Smoked Cigarette
Life is like a smoked cigarette. When you first go to light a cigarette, The anticipation of that first inhalation of toxins, is quickly followed by the climax, and then of course, the end. The filter. What little toxins that have made it to the end, are so gross and undesirable, that we just throw it away. A mere flick sends cigarette soaring through time and space to assume its rightful resting place on the ground. In the end, the cigarette performed its function. Its purpose has been fulfilled. Its function has been served.
Where do we go from here? Or better yet? Where do we go now that we've performed our purpose? Should we die happy, knowing that we've done our job. Or do we always question, what might have been?
For some time now, Ive been writing whats been on my mind, only to discover that my function and purpose feels intertwined in the letters i use to construct a meaningful thought. ( or meaningless perhaps, but that's for the reader to decide)
I use the tools of writing and communication to encapsulate my purpose. My minds eye is a medium for which i express the thoughts and desires of a man who's searching for a purpose. After all, whats left after we die? Shadows? dust? memories? The people we've influenced. The only goal of my words is to trigger any type of synaptic leap from your ears to your memory. Hopefully , something was learned , or a universal emotion was invoked.
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