What does it mean to be? To exist amongst some people you end up being friends with. Those people that you’ll end up sitting with everywhere because you don’t think you can really end up in any other group. Because you surround yourself with people you can criticize by identifying their weakest points that they reveal to you, vulnerable. Friendship, does that ever happen? Or is it just a collection of moments we can look back and smile as we wonder off remembering, on and on. A little nostalgic pang that hits you harder the longer you leave it unnoticed. You think that yourself with people who will reflect your real persona, people who will help you out with your life, but you’re wrong, you’re just around people; you just surround yourself with amusements, figures and pieces of the insolvable picture. That little masterpiece that you are. Paint her, and you will color your life with moments of love. And you will fall in love in high school with someone you never realized except for a name in your class list. And then he’ll end up being everything, that person you can do anything and everything with, just the creation of more memories and more heart ache. But is it even real that little heartache? You think it hurts, and because you think of the wrong things, they happen, the wrong happenings. Then you complain about your life going at the steepest slope of downhill. What if life is just a placebo effect? One whole big illusion, after all God’s one hell of a magician. But aren’t all magicians really just con-men with lies bigger than yours?
You’re just a solo note in God’s symphony.
God creates us with thoughts larger than our minds. So we end up running faster than we should, and we end up rushing through the roads of dilemma and some of us fall of the end of the road and others elope to it, that waterfall of insanity. We end up trying to arrive to an illusionary destination, and eventually, we die half way through that divine infinity.
So what does it mean to be?
To live accomplishing the highest level of society’s materialistic standards that lead you into entering a school and a college in to pursue knowledge when it’s simply another organized structure functioning in what aims to be a fascist corrupt utopia. Because if you’re in search of knowledge you’re supposed to be seeking those books that publishing companies are banned to publish. Those books have the real knowledge.
And then you get married and you think your life is complete, but there will always be this little itch that turns redder the moment you think you can just scratch it away.
But it does go away, and appears on another patch of skin.
I guess there is no real meaning to be, but there must be, there must be an unthoughted Godly thought that will lead us there, at least let’s placebo ourselves into thinking that.
After all reality is only what you think it is, so instead of being deluded by other entities, let’s delude ourselves.