He is as he has long since been, jaded but fighting to remain optimistic. His inclination is to denounce the world but his single mindedness on its singularity cajoles him to make his peace -uneasy though it may be- with it. Still, the sheer fact of his being weighs heavily on his shoulder. The supporting role in his own story, struggling to find the joy in life because there isn’t enough life for him; what there is is existence. An extra in a film, him ‘being’ made meaningful only by the story of the stars, only purposeful to tell their tale. A clouded mind, a weak will, an aimless passion; vying to accept any excuse, but knows the truth won’t be found in a reason, it’s firmly grounded in reason. He’ll try, and fail, and try again, always knowing meaning isn’t found because there is none to be found. It takes an act of will, self delusionary will, to form one, mould it out of nothing, bind it by hope and sustain it by unrest; yet those who do are the stars of their own existence, the main cast in life. An ensemble piece to be sure, more stars than extras, but the few remain. So his hope is to find those to whom life is not a script; those who grasp that “life is a stage” is no longer metaphorical in our state of play. Those who can touch the precious few real things in life and not turn them into props; those who can say “I love” without becoming every cliché contrived; those who can stand on the edge of meaning and tread softly to the other side because they are always anchored to everything there is, illusions extirpated. Those who no longer fear their inevitable demise because it is the ultimate reality; the one last thing that will stand uncorrupted by pretence. So he may not hold much hope for mankind’s sanity, but still fancies a flutter on its persistence. A god gave fire to man, who made it a spotlight; he’s still holding out that some will give it back because they are no longer afraid of the dark.
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