I wonder if one finds some sense of comfort in a state of hopelessness. I’m not entirely sure if I do but the numbness ensures that I don’t think too much about it. The endless anguish burns and leaves me feeling eternally angst at the very thought of necessitated existence. I wished that the way of life was a choice that we could make sense of. The process of dying must be made meaningful. It is a long shot but maybe it can make things better.
To witness is to learn and experience. The absurd and the crass take away all the faith from what comforts innocence. The whole notion of experience as a whole seems to be disheartening. The whole idea of something ‘inspiring’ might emerge from a torrential and painful episode leaves me to wonder if the idea of a bad experience is justified? I am not entirely sure. But you might just end up seeing it yourself while hanging around hopelessly.
Suffering is the watchword of our wretched existence and the bane of our aspirations and yet we seemingly deny it. If you take the little effort to negate all that is temporary around you and all that you might call solace, it is easy to know that to live is to suffer. Absurdity is the morphine in all of this and some of us need it more than anything else.
In the process of denial and the urge to escape into this innocent yet desperate high, come one too many mistakes and endless regret. It might bring us closer to the painful truth, but it is hard to stop and think and stop and think a little more in the rush. For all you know, this might just be another regret. With every step, there’s someone who I couldn’t be and there’s someone we might be or there’s regret, stepping away from regret into potential regret.

Heady, thrilling, quick high, tranquil, and soothing. We all need that little shot of absurdity all the way till its normalcy and we can’t do without our little shot of everyday culture. There’s nothing wrong in a little hope. You and I might not regret it.


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