Monday, April 10, 2006

Twice Seven

The sign.

You know the day, the day you feel like you've waited your whole life, patient as a monk, just biding your time as Buddha whispers "not this" in your ear.

And the world is nothing but strangers smoking cigarettes, and you without a joint, without a mushroom, without a cactus, without anything you will allow yourself to have. Standard misery in a strange town, and you think: this is my message from the stars, a faceless blank ribbon of asphalt, two hours more to get home.

Wait...

In the end, the lesson is the lesson is the lesson is the lesson. You take what you get and do what you can with it. Some day the universe will load a bullet with your name on it and you will die. Nothing else really matters. Noone knows when, and noone knows what comes next. So here, now, you have to let your bad days go and get on with whatever is next.

klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.

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