Questions

It's 7:38am. Currently a little bit drunk, what a surprise you may say. Ah but the sweet taste of liquor does not carry such a burden on my brain as it once did. I think I am much happier now, streaming. I think I enjoy myself a lot more than when I am doing things I would rather not do, like going to work in a place that does not interest me. Many times, I find myself questioning what I will say next. I sometimes fear, when I speak too much, or write too much about myself I realize that one day may come, when I have no more stories to write, no more things to say to the world, what then? Do I sit alone, wallowing in despair, waiting for the reaper to come take me? Do I yell against the world for it's pervasive inaccuracies? Do I accept it, and move on? So how does one move on from the most principal of human objectives? To become what they want to be, seems like an alluring dream, something made from fairy tales, and as I grow older, it seems to be just that. I think if that day ever does come, I may finally rest. Rest my eyes from a cruel world, a cruel world made from the bodies of others, made from the blood and flesh of many conquerors, of the plagues and trauma of the cruelest of humans. It might finally be a paradise. Who knows? I sure don't.