What?

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Enough of this slog, just point us to the nearest watering hole

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"why?" the philosopher and the poet both asked. The philosopher pondered and pondered, and had only more questions the more he thought about it. He concluded "I can't possibly know everything," and found great wisdom in the unanswerable nature of things. The poet shouted and cried, waited for an answer. His soul was in agony and the cold winds never ceased. He concluded "Why should I care?" frustrated that there was nobody to answer him.

The poet and the philosopher never met, ever so far apart.

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Kill the part that composes your humanity Until you become an empty shell Follow the line and succumb to insanity Build your home in the depths of hell Now stare into the mirror, what do you see Your mind is imprisoned while your body roams free A biological machine with no self reflection A mental slave who's lost his taste of affection

What were you thinking? You've let the essence of life go Your soul is sinking What heights it might have reached you'll never know

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When I post on tumblr I have an imaginary audience Waiting tensely, what words what profound words come rolling out of my mouth. then it ends up being some ol' bullshit like this formatted nicely, so I can pass it off as poetic

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Another thing of mine.

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Something I did about a month ago

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The stream carries everyone along Nobody really knows where they're going I climb out of the river sometimes but there's a danger in knowing that the possibility exists, it's hard to break from the mindset Once you stop to rest, you need to swim faster to catch up But what motivates one to do so When the river ends in steel darkness? All these people let themselves get carried away like sheep running into a wolf's mouth Have they not been born with good eyes? Or did they never learn to see? Don't trust a muddy river nor the men in black suit and tie who tell you to jump in.

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Monday

Cold sweat running down to my chin, Leaving a scent of concealed fear in the air, Down into the lion's pit I begin to make my descent. Knowing that I might never ascend these same steps, I say a prayer to my God. Monday is coming....

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"Time continues slowly sometimes dangerously still Everyday a new beginning finds you staring up the hill Another war another clearcut, another killer cop A society collapsing with the ticking of the clock You'd think there'd never be an outlet, never something so immense That it could break this spell of silence and the deeds it represents But between the benefactors and the people beaten back It's evident by history that something's gonna crack And when it does there's only action, the changing of the hands Aggression laying waste to all the best laid plans And don't blame me if I'm smiling when it all comes tumbling down If I had a rocket launcher, I would make each second count"

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Catch a glimpse of what I've achieved musically in the last two years

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Life or survival?

This tumblr thing is some cool shit. I can post all of my angry, disorganized and obnoxious rants here and anyone can choose to be bothered by it or not.

It's remarkable how much discomfort, or agony, one can feel; even with a full stomach and a 12m² private space to give shelter against the grey, humid North Sea climate. Millions of people would kill or suck dick for what I have. In fact, most of the luxuries I take for granted were built with blood and sweatshop labor. I must be one spoiled, egocentric motherfucker to have any negative thoughts at all while living with these material blessings.

The sad truth is that I am not so happy with it. All the wealth in the world will never make a human being content with his or her life, and God knows I'd still whine and bitch about the things I don't have. The key to life is not in material wealth, nor is it in statistical figures of the number of bitches you fucked.

All these luxuries and distractions. God knows we need them, having to put up with getting up early in the morning every day to go to a place we don't want to be, but somehow depend on tosurvive. With each passing day of being deprived of the passion to fulfill one's dreams, a bit of the intangible energy that makes us human, dies. Though our life expectancy rises with the rapid development of the medical industry, all we really do is survive. But do we live?

My dilemma is that I want to live, and NOW, for fuck's sake. I realized a few years ago that this can not be done by acquiring a TV the size of Africa, nor can it be done by driving a supercar that runs one mile to twenty gallons.

I figured the creative arts might be a good way to start. Though I had to find my way first. Drawing was fun for a while but I lack the spatial aptitude to put any of my mind-pictures on paper. The more I tried, the more frustrating it became. On February the 6th 2010 began my venture into music, with a dusty ol' guitar on my back. And so far, the ride has been fucking amazing. I love this. I'm gonna go academic on this sonofabitch (if any of the institutions will let me).

So I found a part of my life. Making music used to be a childhood dream, and I have already partially fulfilled it, and hey, I've got decades more to go! I should be happy, right?

.. But damn it, I'm still one depressed motherfucker. The best friends in the world, a creative passion, what's missing? Why do I still lack the strength I need to face this stressful finance-dominated life? I have no definitive answers. The only clue I have is that my heart is craving for... someone. Someone to live for. That thing you get when being in love doesn't end disastrously. I want that. After I left the Protestant Church, I was suddenly living for myself instead of God, and honestly... I'd rather live for someone else. I have no desire to be the best I can be, purely for my own satisfaction. If someone really close to me would depend on my wellbeing and success to be happy, then my efforts to live a good life would feel worthwhile. I'll just have to wait until this opportunity comes my way, I guess.

In the mean time...... I'll just have to serve out my life. Premature death is for the cowardly, or the unlucky.