Life

Life.

I was born at a very young age, though I have spent a lifetime getting over it. Well. Not yet.

Life is a circumstantial situation beyond my control. At least at the entry level.

I am a victim of circumstances beyond my control and to which I gave no consent. I never asked to be here, and I will leave any time I damn well please. No immediate plans to that end, but just making a point.

Speaking of points, life is a broken pencil. No point to it, but accompanied by an eraser to remind us of our errors.

A natural effect of a natural effect is all that I am, and that is all I ever will be.

Existence is a once in a lifetime experience. An annual trip around the mass which is the center of the known universe. A continuous quest for comfort. No rule book supplied, though several have been written. No clear point to the experience, though plenty of theories have been conjectured.

Life supplies us with a natural aversion to suffering and a nagging sense of right and wrong which is continuously convoluted and confused with and by cultural conditioning and subjective standards.

Life is love, laughter, and lunacy. Then 15 minutes of fame. Then the flower garden.

Like two physicians making love, life is a paradox.

Such is life.

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