I, am not often at a loss for words.

Sure, that statement it is rooted in an ego-maniacal complex that I’d formed from a lifetime of having an answer to everything, even if it’s created from an assumption of an observation that I quickly made and deduced on the spot. I still had words for it.

This. THIS. I have no words for. This, death of an idea, this complex of too many structures held together by thousands of hours of cultural and environmental factors that I subconsciously took note of, then proceeded to either neglect halfheartedly or accept with a conscious disdain for what might be. Both have led to nothing more than misery and the occasional bout of despair, on the part of my intent to not inflict any sort of negative vibes into the world.

Now i’d like to believe, that in my heart of heart’s, within the core of my being, like the god particle holding everything together (but still it goes further), is based in fact that existence is a continuing feelings of angst the never wants to precipitate except that point where it really doesn’t feel welcome, but none the less welcomed, because, what the fuck else is there to do?

So how the fuck did I get here? Now, of all times, assaulted by responsibilities that I never signed up for, but invariably accepted because there is honor in it. Forced to show a side of me that doesn’t actually exists but as a caricature in the pantheon of nothingness that is this existence. Always seeking just the mildest escape from this restless comfortable existence that, is there to show me that existence cannot be won, but sometimes patience is probably a better trait then actively wasting away in an attempt to fill that void with things that are probably worse.

Biding my time as though regrouping and becoming that thing that I was always meant to but never really seemed to have the time to, because I spent so long trying to understand how everything could be so different. Pretending to be this badass with not a worry in the world, but making sure that everything that happens has a happy ending so that no one in the end should be sad but my self, because i can bear it, i can hold it upon my shoulders and make sure Atlas knows his rest.

I got here because this is where how things were supposed to be, and I seem to be locked in a cycle of not being worried about where whatever existence is will take me, then overly concerned, then not concerned once more. Always moving back and forth as though neither truth too false to deny, or too honest to affirm trust. But I knew one thing, and that truth definitely held true, but its a painful truth, much like finally learning you can’t do it on you’re own, or that the world open to infinite beauty, but also just as much worse.

This truth will remind me that these utter ramblings are the signs of madness, a true madness that the world has forgotten, one that says delusions of grandeur are not built upon words, but on the fact that actions were taken to ensure those delusions were just premonitions of things to come. That the intentions and the executions may have been slightly off, but the path was true. Built not of want of self, but want for others once more, but only by improving the idea of self through accepting that even the good and the bad aren’t as bad not knowing.

How did i get here? I thought too much, and said too much, drank too little and smoked a lot. I let the world find out that I stand on a structure of nothing and so nothing will ever stop me from becoming whatever there is to be. That my lack of formal education and experience were never fun, but they do not have to define how anything is done now.

So really? How did i get here?

I did the most important thing I think I could have done, I let it all in, i let it all hurt and I let it all tell me to one degree or another, that I am alive, again. That living in perpetual state of giving is okay, that by giving I received everything I had ever sought, to show that there was still good in this world, and that even if it sucks sometimes, it can be worth living it. Even if the happiness is rarely felt back agin its existence made it good enough.

My ego is rooted in wanting everything to make sense, and it took a big blow too, so that may have caused it to go a bit haywire in its perception of what was happening, but its a little sharper now, just a bit more focused, so i guess that’s helped.

What else is there usually for one to say when reaching the point where, explanation in common verbiage is no fun or possible? Switch to another form? Maybe later, for now. I want to be here, making sure here is finally okay.