'Yes, man is mortal, but that would be only half the trouble. The worst of it is that he's sometimes unexpectedly mortal - there's the trick!' Mikhail Bulgakov
During the brightest hours of my years I've been at my most cynical. Perhaps the currents are pulling me in a post-modernist position. At least I've noticed that my cynicism also prevails during the stretches of darkness, whether it be labour, study or the odd personal relationship. I cannot go further without admitting that I hate that term; personal relationship. Call it what you will, a human bond, an integral part of the human condition or simply girl trouble. But I've squandered my point and wasted into dwelling away from what I was ranting on again. Damn. Focus, focus you bastard.
Now, I'm not a manic depressive, nor am I bipolar. I have rides. Up and down, criss-cross and the odd strange bend. I've bought the ticket and I'm willing to take it wherever it goes, no-matter if the destination is a crash and burn or a lazy, slow drive through a boring country side.
But what am I saying here? Fuck knows. I'm usually lost in this myself. Let the words flow. Each letter has to form a word according to the beat, and each word must flow into the next with the rhythm of a rosenrot hum.
I guess it's time for a metaphor or an analogy. I am the wolf. Now, hold on. Wolves are not solitary animals. They are social, pack animals. A lone wolf is either one looking for a pack or scouting, but other than that it is wrong to consider wolves to be anti-social creatures. I am not anti-social. I may be introverted, but I enjoy it greatly to mingle and learn from other people. Yes, that's my only reason for communicating with the other proteins of our species. I enjoy learning from them. Expanding horizons, if you will, but there is something else to it. It's not a search for knowledge; this is not an inquisition into what makes the world tick tick tick tick until it finally breaks. No, I am motivated by interests and my own self-satisfaction when it comes to fulfilling that interest.
I am solidly interested in languages, opinions, cultures, music and various lists and twists of topics. Something doesn't have to be useful for me to want to know it. I merely need to know something about it. Knowledge is not power, knowledge is a set of colours that flows and paints and strides and bleeds and curves and smiles and and and and and. I can go on, all the way down, turtle upon turtle.
So, what am I getting at here? I am the wolf, once more. I am not interested in the little rave scenes you've got going. They're cute, okay. They think they're smart. It's okay; they are. I'm not interested in the daily demise of your hours unless you've got that spark in your smile, that crooked glimmer of hope and despair or the twisted carnage with which you enjoy your routines. I am not interested in those mortals, living, who take strides like they are immortals. They speak, but lack the will to forge their words into possessing any form of meaning. I am interested in those who are fully aware of their mortality, their own fragile shell, and despite this take strides to challenge themselves. Whether it be their brittle lives, their language, their understanding or their beliefs, people who seek to grow in face of great adversity are the ones with the most fascinating aspects to their lives. The trick is to escape life, not with death, but with a cracked smile on your face and walk through hell like you own the goddamn place.
Now, what have I gotten at. I'm still not sure. I'm not coherent enough to make it work. What I am though, is a barghest, and here I sit, smiling at you all, with a cracked grin on my face, asking you;
Can you survive irony's vicious temperament?
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