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Tuesday, December 19, 2017

"my failures" (stream-of-consciousness prose poem)

I did nothing today as pertains 
academia. I AM  a mess of a 
man. a mess of a manly manly 
man. not that I need to be a manly 
manly man, but I would like to be 
at least moderately successful in my 
ventures (I have too many dreams to 
hold silent in a space as small as this 
skull of mine). Dance with me in this 
awfulness, like a she-wolf lone in the 
wilderness with nothing but a collar 
to tell it that it was once a dog. Tell me 
your wrongs and I'll tell you mine. 
Together, we'll make it 
"right."

Together, as I said, we will make it 
write. 

Lost in an unmapped maze, we are 
forced to draw our own from the 
narrow chinks in our particular 
caverns. Unique in amazement 
and pain. Unique in the colors 
our blood takes when converted 
to paint. Unique in the ways we 
slowly kill ourselves. Unique in 
the ways we slowly work to build 
life's very meaning from nothing 
but a blank canvas always declaring 
that "tomorrow never comes." 
But I think you understand 
as well as I do: 
this was the point all along.

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The world is meaningless,

there is no God or gods, there are no morals, the universe is not moving inexorably towards any higher purpose.
All meaning is man-made, so make your own, and make it well.
Do not treat life as a way to pass the time until you die.
Do not try to "find yourself", you must make yourself.
Choose what you want to find meaningful and live, create, love, hate, cry, destroy, fight and die for it.
Do not let your life and your values and your actions slip easily into any mold, other that that which you create for yourself, and say with conviction, "This is who I make myself".
Do not give in to hope.
Remember that nothing you do has any significance beyond that with which you imbue it.
Whatever you do, do it for its own sake.
When the universe looks on with indifference, laugh, and shout back, "Fuck You!".
Rembember that to fight meaninglessness is futile, but fight anyway, in spite of and because of its futility.
The world may be empty of meaning, but it is a blank canvas on which to paint meanings of your own.
Live deliberately. You are free.