godlessmess

cynicism has a price and that price is soulessness. The cynicism, the biting critique, the insightful commentary all conjoins to deflect the joy, the beauty, and the passion from life, and from yourself. It is disgracing, a lowering of spiritual and emotional connectedness down to the base, the visceral, the primal. Better to transcend the animal, the hungry, feeding animal than to embrace it fully. Or perhaps not? Does the battle to overcome the primal, the animalistic, cause the division in the first place? Too close to what we kill for comfort. It destroys our sensibilities, drives us into our cages that we adorn with the images, the conflict, the unresolved InterPlay. We're looking for our ending, our happy little stroll into the discrete intangibility. Nothingness, emptiness, dorning on through as the energy courses through the body.

One day soon I hope, we shall find the synergystic bliss that we long and crave for, yet perhaps we never shall -- perhaps we shall only find fath and joy in the inevitability of our unknowing, the work of the thing, of the creation, is the only true beauty left to us, the inheritors of shame and sin and vice and pity. The shame is forced upon us so all that is left is to find comfort in shamelessness. Have you no shame? Our shame makes the beautiful ugly.