Musings upon a homecoming…

I have almost infinite time to myself. I mean this completely. Don’t take offense, but largely when you see me I am engaging myself in some weird introspective investigation. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, there’s no method, there’s no catharsis. I’m fully convinced that it’s a waste of my time. But it’s only a waste of my time in that everything else is a waste of my time. And in recognizing this I transcend it. I realize that I live a fully irrelevant life, and that’s alright. It’s alright, the way that I live. To attempt to relate anything more is mere folly. I embrace my mediocrity. It is something that I feel is underrated.

I’m going to move through time enjoying myself and attempting to give enjoyment to others. I laugh, I talk, I cavort. I want you. I want you to be filled with joy. I have to evaporate feelings of grandeur in order to make it comfortable across the board. It doesn’t matter. I miss everyone I know no matter what their proximity. Everything is amazing, and everything is joyous, it is also bitter and painful, but those are the exceptionally real feelings of the world we’ve created.

I am basically taking the time to say something obvious in the hope that it is in some way made obvious to everyone after my saying. In the spirit of such, here is a picture of Ernest Hemingway. He had a lot to say…

Tsssssssss

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