Monday, December 03, 2007
half-lives
track the progress of decay, said my twitchy chem teacher. so true.
felled by the million tiny decisions that push a life one way or another. the lack of self-discipline, and the semi-wilful inability to see past the happiness stolen inch by inch from the neverending responsibilities of being. something. anything. performing these small oblations to sleep, to comfort, to the serenity achievable only by deep, dedicated nua-ing; meanwhile behind your back your obligations press ever closer.
and before you know it they've overcome you; as sure and bewildering as the sudden silent lull before the riptide that pulls you under, and drags you along the rocks, stunned and wild-eyed and unbelieving, with just enough breath left to fully appreciate your doom as it crashes, inevitably, agonizingly, monumentally, down, down, down.
+ fictions&fires
1:57 PM
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plangere, latin: to strike, or to lament.
in the depth of winter i finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
--albert camus
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to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
-- ee cummings
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