10 August 2010

A Domestic Death

On things being too easy, on the absence of challenges and obstacles, on the attainability of goals without the compromising cost of energy--without the tests of will power, or gauges of endurance. The bitter battle scars that only sweeten the final victory--going back once again, to Icarus--Conflict must exist.

Sacrifice, risk, moral twilight...Whatever the end, remember that through the means, there will be blood. Is it justified? Does the passion equal the task? That is for the individual to decide upon self-analysis. But passion is what will get you there.

If there is a thought, act it. If there is an opportunity, take it. Jump in head first, sort it out as you go along. Moments are eternal parades of sequence, one proceeding the next down the corridors of infinity. When you see one you like, take hold of it and affect it, shake it in your hands and watch it stray away from its course and form a new line, a new procession of consequence. Expect contradiction from the parallel queue, await the unknown, be certain it will be uncomfortable and with much difficulty, it will wrap you in its intricate knots, that as sure as there is breath in your lungs it will strangle you dead at the throat. Of course, they are knots that you can no doubt untie but each with effort and time, all the while the temptation of the parallel queue begs you to return the moment, to forget the complex anarchy and ride the wave already prepared for you. Give it all up, it says--enticing you, massaging you with visions--Why should it be so difficult? Its so utterly unfair...there is pleasure, there is heaven, we've made it long before you got here. We labored years to design it; just so that when you got here you needn't worry about it.

Poor fellow, with its mind petted and not one muscle moving. Poor fellow, for whom life lives as a breathing death.

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