I've begun to question the very purpose of my existence.
Which is really just a fancy way of saying ''I've been reading too much Albert Camus.''
The only way to enjoy one's life is to accept the Absurd.
To accept that life has no meaning except for the meaning I give it.
No purpose other than the purpose I wish it to have.
Belief in God is absurd because there is no way to verify his existence.
Belief in the absence of God is absurd because there is no way to verify it.
Trying to believe anything spiritually is absurd because spirits are not science and anything that is not science cannot be verified and is therefore absurd.
Life is absurd.
The purpose of life is reproduction, survival.
Or so it has been verified by science.
Spiritually though, there is no purpose because everything is a purpose.
Bins of wealth.
Hovering as praying birds.
Expose of life.
Un secret de Polichinelle.
They'll have you believe,
that they never lie.
Anything that makes a buck.
Invasive bloodied journalists.
I pondered life for a while,
Why am I here?,
What is my purpose?,
What will I do with my life?,
Everyone dies eventually,
there will be a time when no one is remembered,
a time, when humans don't exist,
so I figure, in this absurd life,
I might as well try to enjoy myself.
they are bound
they are kept in
they are never allowed
to be free
what do I speak of
they are my words
at a past location
were too free in their expression
for a strict code
and far too often
so much for saying
at my previous location
the straight jacket
had been placed