ramblings of a wished upon drunken afternoon

We find ourselves still in our humility, small in our presumed greatness. Outside the walls of responsibility, we binge drink silly, not wanting to look at the beautiful outdoors or feel the sun on our faces, the wind on our skin. We'd rather work up an emotional fit, daring the pain to make us create. No, we do not want to escape from it anymore because it follows us anyway, to the depths of the lake's bottom, or to the heights of witnessed eclipses. We have lost the joy of walking, of sight-seeing, of wondering because there is nothing to wonder about anymore. It is futile to try. Blood will ooze when one is cut, and death is imminent - whether it is something or someone, or somewhat somewhere. Then why do we even try to fight it? Isn't it nobler to let it consume you? But then again, if the goal is nobility, which is another term for vanity because it is still self-image and how others perceive that self, it is also vanity, and nothing is noble in that which screams "Notice me! Look at me!"

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