Uphill battles may be ahead,
but they are also behind us.
Do not follow Sisyphus’s footsteps.
Reach your goals and be complete.

Act I: The Universe Breathes, and I Am an Afterthought

I arrived late to existence,
billions of years after the stars had their golden age.
Missed the Big Bang,
missed the Renaissance,
missed the time when love letters were written on paper,
instead of reducing feelings to keystrokes.

They handed me a body,
a mind that questions too much,
and a world obsessed with carving meaning out of chaos—
as if Sisyphus hadn’t already proven
we’re all just rolling boulders uphill,
pretending not to notice the futility.

Act II: The Weight of Knowing, the Lightness of Forgetting

Socrates said, “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.”
I read that at 3 a.m. and felt personally attacked.
Descartes told me, “I think, therefore I am,”
but some days, I think too much and forget how to be.

History is a carousel of déjà vu,
spinning the same tragedies on repeat.
Empires fall, currencies crash,
trends resurrect themselves like poorly buried ghosts.
The Greeks feared hubris,
the Romans feared the barbarians,
I fear how meaning crumbles when no one is left to remember.

Act III: Beyond Meaning, Beyond Regret

Maybe Dante was right—
hell isn’t fire, it’s bureaucracy.
Maybe we’re just modern Stoics in overpriced hoodies,
romanticizing the art of being okay with things we can’t change.

Maybe meaning isn’t found in grand gestures,
but in the quiet absurdity of it all—
in watching the sun rise like it’s not exhausted,
in laughing at a joke older than Shakespeare,
in knowing that despite wars, collapses, heartbreaks, and lost civilizations—
someone, somewhere, still bakes bread from scratch,
still hums a song they don’t remember the name of,
still chooses to keep going.

Final Scene: To Exist Is to Hesitate, and Yet—

Nietzsche said, “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
I’m still figuring out my why.
But in the meantime,
I’ll sip my coffee, watch the world spin,
and pretend I was always meant to be here.

Human life moves fast
shows things, words, convinces

It shows things that are not created,
but about what is created in the heart
No healthy person will say

And even when life is sad
Don't lose hope, because it's very tedious anyway

Everything is falling apart
You're lying on the ground, you're in despair

Suddenly a ray of sunshine appears,
Drivetrain like in a sports car
Engine straight from the sky

It's coming back, and you want to change it, present it like a bestseller,
Put it on a distant shelf, away from light, eyes of the gaze
for old memories

And when you see yourself in the mirror after grayness and indifference... You bet something...
It's love, faith, hope

-Happiness at last, faith at last,
As if my punishment had passed, you thought
not seeing your reflection that you have already seen,
reflections from the mirror of childhood. It's faith

Not only old memories will remain

i feel like the weight of my world
is on my shoulders,
a self-inflicted
Atlas curse.

my actions
are coming back
to knock me down
and crush my resolve.

i'm so close.

so close to getting everything fixed.

and i push the boulder
up the hill as Sisyphus did.

but every time i near the zenith,
i make one small misstep,
and everything slips from my hands,
rolling me flat again.

mere assignments
feel like labours of Hercules,
impossible trials,
with the intent of divine punishment.

if i slay the Hydra,
will i pass english class?

Is a boulder wedged
Betwixt thy chest
Bearing weight
Of moving – beyond

Dost thou push against
The peak of unrest
An unmoving
Sought to abscond

Accursed encumberment –
Zeus, come urgent!
Trade distant
For the fond

That feeling lost
To pebble tossed,
Skipped
Across shallow pond

Do you even care for
Did you ever – more –
Stop to think
Or consider at all

What precipitates –
The flood – the rain –
Is the same which
Prompted the roll

For I have no brake
So, to break – my fate –
Is what remains
To break my fall

Now all I hope for
Is coming – war –
To bleed me
Dry and dull

Passion – passed
Regiment – collapsed
Atop sword
Of your own recruit

And yet I stand
Hand in hand
With fallen
Soldiers – resolute

For I am leg-bound,
Surface-drowned,
By pit
Of fruitless pursuit

A victim still
To down-turned hill
And resolution
Most astute

The storm is done
But not the burden
That drums –
A thunderous applause

A wound that heals
Still yet conceals
Heart held
Together by gauze

Bless me – rid
Thine Sisyphus –
Of that stone-still
Chore you bore

Why must I carry
What once was merry
Now bruised,
Shattered and sore?

Ombudsmen mental role play
settling as difference does, across time,
toy whistles turn into notes that evoke tears.

We are the winners, we with eyes and ears that hear,
or minds that may imagine
doing
anything at all.
You know. No living thing desires death,
must I **** the mobs I help manifest,
must I un believe a lie?

Comfort the weak.
Pay the comforters well, as you would pay your father,
to do that work for you,
and your father will joyfully be
used that way.
Think.
Old people feeling useless,
while others feel
useless because they are
comfort objects in need of comforting.
Good news.
You can do this.
You can encourage me, I am weak, I need comfort,
and, and, and comforting me will comfort you.
I am poor and always with you.
I am as I am, I make a way for rich men to get
through the eye of a needle.

I sit upon the dragon horde, helpless, not hopeless
My kind of Adamkind, we keep hope alive,
we are with you always,
help us help you love yourself,
help us be happy, we will remain poor,
we can stand the weight of all that can be known,
poor ain't bad when enough's enough,
which,
truth be told, is true. Waves tuned perfectly never crash.

Light waves in light, see.
We simple love simplicity.

--- pretenders contending for the use me, use me,
put me in coach,
let me bat, coach,

let me preach, pastor, let me teach,
post initiate no
vitiated soul. lost it's breath in the race to the grave

woke up on a time when this story found iron feet
anchored in red clay claiming to making

all the rusty dust as that rock rolls this way,

can we imagine a happy ever after page that we all are on?
who asked?
weavenoname is a rule in this game. The riddle being:

who was that masked man? The answer being
wrong
again, I thought I already knew this
potentially perhaps, haps being the essence of any
state of happiness
while standing, scientifically
under knowing good and evil
understanding mistranslation, willful, then ignorant
sacred undefined undefines sacrifice, the act of sacred making,

As knowledge branches over time
and under ground to soil having life in time
for now to function, finally, for goodness sakes…
Ai t ia is blaming your cause on word effects…

leaving secrets to hint at for the knowing of the
landmarks our sapiens sapiens
megalithicus ancestors left
as weforms in full agreement
belearned to turn phi wise pi men t'al
time trix,
hell to learn,
hell to pay, watch  t'al slow's
time tells a patient story stood
upon this very time,
at this very point,
post happyeverafter. My bubble,
my reality ified at my lief and leisure
expanded ever after and has yet to pop...

- reviewed six years later and called
- here, then and now, same person,
- six years more experienced, no wiser/

Sisyphus finally at rest
Finds himself restless
It is better to desire
Than to have.

In all my strength as a child
I was a pebble in someone else's shoe
and the boulder he rolled every day.