I am starting to write hoping I’d, in the process, stumble on something that I can write about. Thus far, no luck.
There are a few random thoughts that I think I can develop, but I’m just too apprehensive because this being my first post, I want for it to be “great”. I delve a little deeper, is my writing a medium for me to express myself or is this some publicity stunt? F#$k, it is no publicity stunt, so I’m just going to write what I think, what I feel, the way I feel it. Uncensored. Unconditioned.
Most of us, we, spend most of our lives without realising that most of what we do is in utter frivolity and futility. Take, for instance, our existence. We are born in what could have been merely an act of pleasure. We are then brought up. Why, I wonder? Why do parents parent? I don’t see a point in toiling one’s ass off just because something one helped bring into existence needs to be supported. Compassion. Why is there compassion? People are born, people die. People come close, people go away. It is the way. Why do we get so involved in the trivial tangles of quick sand-ish things that are so engrossing that once we’re in there, they’re all that there seems to be? Anyhow, I’m deviating. So yes, we are brought up. We grow, we go through...
Bah, I’m bored. Later.
