"Death gives meaning to life."
It makes me so angry, because,
How ridiculous is it not?
That we accept an end?

Death does not give meaning to life.
- We do.
And meaning is not something to be given
It is something to be taken.
With every breath -
With every step -
And every leap you take
You create your purpose.

"Death gives meaning to life."
No.
Living does.

You do not read a book for the end
-you read it for the journey.
You should not wake up just to go to bed
-you wake up to enjoy the day.

You do not live to die.
You live to live.

there are times
when the meaning
of a word
is asked
one that
has been read
and regurgitated
used regularly
correctly adopted
as part of
an apparent
well-read
   or pretentious
vocabulary
however upon
being asked
its meaning
there is only
a blank
vacuous
addled
unable to provide
a succinct
or even literate
definition

to save face
to re-establish
the hubris
of this
abashed lexicologist
analogous alternatives
will be offered
oversimplified
synonyms
carrying a little
less gravitas
a layman's explanation
to maintain
position on his
self-congratulatory
podium

there are times
while reading
that rather
than check
the definition
     of a word
a word
which is recognised
but whose true meaning
evades me
rather than
search the illumined
pages of a dictionary
to reveal
the mysteries of
     this vital word
this word
which carries
the entire weight
of interpretation
and comprehension
for the rest
     of the sentence
     of the paragraph
     of the page
instead there is
a striving
to illicit some
understanding
vague or otherwise
from whatever context
can be applied
to those words
that remain
indifferent to
the possibility
that I might
misunderstand
it all

It took a little time to get this old, but it wasn’t hard.  
It was rather just a case of taking one day at a time and not letting the day that is yet to come dominate the day that is.  Each day is sufficient to fill the time we have and cramming in that which has yet to have its allotted time will just cause angst.

It took a little time and that’s how you should keep it – little.  Don’t let any one moment inappropriately inflate, lest it lord over the moment you have in front of you.  So, whether this year amounts to a 10th of your life span, or a 40th, a 50th, or (as in my case), a 60th, give it equal honour.  Let it have its moment in the sun.

It takes a little time to build a life.

What is beautiful
About reality
Is what is beautiful
About math
There are
Many things
That have happened
The things that have
Produced this moment
Are at most times
ASTRONOMICAL
Meaning so big
It renders itself
Incomprehensible
Yet.. it happened

Even if the
Numbers against
Stand taller than
The daisy itself
Ever could
It still remains
In the meadow
For you and I
To see

there is an owl
out there
   somewhere
in the darkness
kept secret
by whispering trees
shrouded
in shadow
by leaf
and cloud
it seems
to have a question
for any
who will listen
politely
but persistently
it inquires
pausing briefly
awaiting
an answer
before asking
again
and again;
whether intended
or not
this interrogation
has infuriated
the old boy
and seemingly
every other canine
in the vicinity

I go through the motions.
Each step I realize a bit of what everyone has already figured out billions of times over.
Each big interval in life, each trudge up the steps.
One after the other.
Connecting, dot to dot to dot to dot.
And for what?
To finish a painting with no end.
Maybe it completes itself at the very precipice of death.
But by then what is the point of its existence.
The fleeting beauty of a singular moment at the very end when it all clicks into place.
I've seen a thousand sun sets each a different form and hue.
I'm familiar with fleeting beauty and it doesn't serve a thing.
With all life has to offer why am I left hollow and wanting.
Will this biological nightmare ever end.
The sentience of swirling sticky chemicals is trick played on us all.

it seems ridiculous
to me
that
it does not matter
in spite
of what is
clearly
logically
and undeniably
the truth

just because
a mistake
was not
challenged
or
corrected
until now;
should not mean
we are forced
to accept
the hindrance
of this idiocy
and what it means
for
our future

I never existed. You know, I never did.
It was all an elaborate illusion.
I have been told to play. No, I had no intention of robbing you of your emotions or perception. I just wanted to find myself.
I realised this so-called universe couldn’t provide me with meaning or perhaps it had none to offer, so I made up characters for every one of them I met, and yet I failed miserably to know myself. Fear of not understanding myself consumed me into nothingness.
 
“I'm tied to the rocking chair.
I don't need to be ******* cared for.
They said my dumb stars weren't aligned. Even those Scripted Zodiac stones won't get it right.”
 
Every time someone came along, I put up a new character, a charade to please their needs in the hope of finding myself, but I never did every single time I couldn't understand why
What lines did I miss or the script didn't work?
series of phobias bombarded my surroundings, making me speak gibberish.

My half-baked memories aren’t mine; different personas tangled within one, saying love isn't our thing, hate, jealousy, why do you need such things?
Emotions are a burden, a limitation on brains.
For centuries, nut-sized cytomegaloviruses have argued over fictitious beings.
I don't find sense in these trivial things.

©sarcasticbong
 
Either I can go to sleep or I accept myself as part of this illusion.