disynthetic

Flesh tendrils are probing their way into my mind and rooting through my memories like a stack of boxes in your grandmother's basement. I'll never give up the search. The search that became a quest. I'll find a meaning to my life, a purpose for my needs. Fulfillment is tertiary, purpose second to none. Yet I doubt and must continue to dismiss the cynic on my shoulder who speaks with my voice, because the bastard is convincing. Charisma. There's an ambiguous word for me to ponder on. Anyway.

This thing of beautiful tragedy called life is worthwhile. Worth every penny invested. Hope is a carrot, even for people who don't like carrots.

Gotta run, even though I don't work today I suppose I'm going to go against the grain here and... do something. I don't quite know however, which could make it interesting.