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I'd like my steak rare, please.

It’s frustrating sometimes, how life is fraught with complications and twists and turns, how living is always not as simple as it seems.

It’s tiring when you think of it, really, the infinite number of possibilities, probabilities, outcomes and endings available in a single lifetime. To contemplate on reality and try to grasp the larger picture that encompasses our small and frail existences is an invitation to madness, or at the very least, sadness. Not to mention that simply saying that you “like to contemplate on the real meaning of life as a whole” makes you an arrogant and presumptuous pseudo-philosophical cock (ahem-ahem, excuse me).

It is as it has always been for me. Suck it all up and move forward.

I say this without bitterness and resentment--after all, such is always the case, and I've gotten used to it. It is simply a statement of fact. I just thought it could, and would, be different this time. Judging from my years as a complete and utter failure, however, it's not so far-fetched to say that I am probably the one at fault. Even IF other people were to blame, I do not own them, nor can I answer for them. They are their own selves. It is useless to point fingers at others when one is not perfect. I can only account for--and therefore blame (and change)--myself, in the end.

Ah, I'm babbling now. I don't think that you, my least-avid fan, understand me anyway. I do that quite often--blab incoherently, that is, so much that I think I've gone bonkers.

Maybe I really have.


Sway With Me
Charles Bukowski

sway with me, everything sad --
madmen in stone houses
without doors,
lepers steaming love and song
frogs trying to figure
the sky;
sway with me, sad things --
fingers split on a forge
old age like breakfast shell
used books, used people
used flowers, used love
I need you
I need you
I need you:
it has run away
like a horse or a dog,
dead or lost
or unforgiving.


Raein said…
Ack. I don't like rare steak. I can tolerate medium rare, though. :)

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