Ask me if I care; I've got better things to do. A digression so acute it takes the self as hostage. The self? A collection of unique absurdity sprung by the common exchange of DNA templates. Human beings, mortals, species adaptable to circumstance, formed under specialized conditioning. The brain, a mechanical center for processing every action, indulging in sheer nonsense to feel a sense of purpose; the whimsical work of neurotransmitters.
Your life, my life, her life, his life, our life- a repetition of seasons.
The sick prospect of love; an aristocratic emotion.
Death, the undervalued savior.
