The world is a beating heart torn from the chest of morality, every contraction resulting in an expulsion of substance, the loss of another soul and the blackening of society as the blood clots. But for this heart to persist, in pulsing and pushing out the essence of life, it must still be connected to something outside itself, something to stimulate a response, unless humanity has tampered and polluted it to the extent where it is not as we believe it should be. An incredible medical breakthrough for theorists, religious leaders and scientists, united in their (masked or unmasked) desire to be right. Their desires to be acknowledged as the intelligent archaeologists that managed to dig up the alternate answer to Douglas Adams' "42", blind them to the consequences that the misjudged swings of their pick-axes are causing. In their self-righteous battles to be recognized and exalted, no matter how humble they are in faith, may soon bring forth an answer. But the bickering makes sensitive work tardy, so maybe a heart attack will strike out society before the answers are unearthed. Or maybe we'll stop looking for the last drop of being, and focus on fixing the leak. But how may people know how to? How many people care? Is perception such a given that we cease to use it? These are just the angsty ramblings of an eighteen-year-old girl, what would she know about real life? What could she know about living right now?
just because i'm pensive doesn't mean i'm emo. happy new year.
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