self-deception

we, each of us, must engage

regularly

with infinity.

our thirst for it as humans demands that we work, that we toil, that we put forth hours of our time against all odds just for that sensation some might call triumph. inspiration. we work ever harder against that which pains us, which confuses us, which causes even more of our faculties to salivate for answers, because the striving and the struggle bring forth, at unexpected intervals, pure bliss.

just the smallest tastes of it.

and it's addicting.

it's maddening.

and it all seems so utterly pointless, too, when looked at under a microscope.

/

i guess i should apologize for times when i might say "all humans feel this" or whatever and it doesn't apply to you when i can only accurately speak for myself. the oversimplifier in me likes to oversimplify, to my own detriment, meh.

\

i think over all these years i'm just sort of saying the same thing over and over in a more refined and worldly manner.

deflection has been my game for years. self-deception. i finally realize how much staring into my own eyes hurts like a bitch.

but at least it's fucking honest.

at least the pain is real, and promises one very real thing:

an eventual end to itself.