Saturday, 6 September 2014

So Predictable

Have you ever thought about how conveniently we ignore our mortality and the highly moribund nature of our existence? It seems to me, increasingly so, that we live in this very fragile, very opaque shell made of firm bricks of denial and a stubborn vehemence.
From the first breath to the last, it's a backward countdown ticking days off of our life's calendar with a robotic precision. Yes, these are facts that we all know; we have been force-fed these truths all along, like vaccine-shots to be taken, never questioned. And yet, this truth sits like a silent shadow that lurks backstage while the show is on, not letting you know when it shall choose to manifest its morbid self and demonstrate its full omnifarious form. You may ask yourself while offloading the next morning in the loo, will it be an accident, a disease, old-age, heartbreak, suicide, murder, an aneurysm, a terrorist attack, or a bullet?
It's an answer you cannot know before it chooses to reveal itself, and yet you know that it is simply a means to get to the same end that is predestined for every soul that has ever lived.

Some writers feel inspired to write about budding romances and passionate afternoons on rainy days such as this one, and here I am, reminding you of how perishable you are. The caffeine isn't working on me today, and neither is the music. I wonder what I need today; perhaps something stronger? 

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