We don’t get here much, anymore. Unfulfilled obligations to thine (mine) own self, along with all the others. A real festive sentiment.

     It is not as though I have been without thought. Doesn’t seem that I can find myself capable of avoidance, no matter the method of numb previously attempted. These days they rattle around the skull, with rarer the release. I cannot say whether that is more universal than it seems. We don’t seem to talk much, as of late. None of us. Not in person, which I still believe makes a difference.

     Hypocritical, for sure. Using a technological method whilst trying to at least mildly condemn the format. But, I suppose, hypocrisy is part of being human. Some more than others, but I don’t think any one of us is spared from engaging in such. At some point, we all have words that contradict. Beliefs that don’t align, despite our trying. Actions acted out of something rawer than that rational thought we like to laud about over the other beasts on this planet. Try as we might, overcoming thousands of years of impulse doesn’t seem as complete as our modern minds wish would be.

     Forgive me, I’ve been reading ancient history and Bukowski. Doesn’t necessarily lend to the species at our finest. Though, in both of those, humanity can still shine.

     I worry about our habits. And our tempers. And the paranoia that seems to shroud us all theses days, despite the variety of angles. Trust among the tumultuous and timid seems a wider divide, and I cannot say if it is all as bad as it seems. A lot of liars and deceivers with loud voices. And misinterpretation seems as widespread as our misconceptions among the misinformed. And I know, by using those words, something was incited within your very mind. And I know that it was different depending on the protagonist who finds themselves reading this. You might have names and faces connected with your distrust. With your disdain. And your dissidence is derived from all sorts of depending factors, and though you may never seem dissuaded, I’d advise you to remember, you may not have always thought this way.

     Yet, I ponder on and wonder whether I’ll ever have anything to say. Then, I’ll wonder why I want to have anything to announce at all. If it is some sort of personality defect. Some unhinged habit that I haven’t even considered shaking out of fear of losing some past section of my self. The feeble mind of mine looking for purpose in the patterns of the perceived unpredictability of this universe. What worth would I be, if I succumb to the pressure mounting upon me? Would it matter whether I tried or just withered and wallowed away the rest of this standard biological life?

     Or would it be, as it still seems to be to me now- that I cannot subside the desire to do more than I have done? And if there are such things as destiny and fate and righteousness, be it onward I (and perhaps all of us) must march, as I (we) use this existence to bring about better than was left from our yesterdays. Are such feats even possible, or are we at the mercy of matters that are more than several lifetimes accumulated are able to anticipate?

     I don’t tend to trust easy answers. Or the folks than tend to provide them. No matter if they’re currently on the television (or other) screen, or if it is some philosophy either modern or much more ancient than that. That’s not to say the answers aren’t simple. Might be that they all are. But easy? I still seem to stand by the standard of not much that is worthwhile, is easy.

     Like it says in one of those older philosophies. Life is suffering, or so it went. Simple, sure. But that sure as shit is not an easy answer. If it is an answer at all.

     And as always, if you’re looking for answers, you’d best look elsewhere.