I’ve been told that life, as it
were, is not the easiest thing to comprehend.
One would think that because we all live and breathe and commit acts of
emotional crime on a daily basis, we would know a little something about
living. It is, after all, our lives we
ponder the most. We have, no doubt,
after this many millenia of existence, figured out something pertinent,
right? One would believe such a
statement, only to be made a fool for belief.
For some odd reason though we cannot – for the life of ourselves, figure
out what this life is all about. For
some, living is not about the one, but rather the many. Service to your fellow man, the truth in
community and the valiance of a life lived for others sits on high as the goal
of pious men. They toil, endlessly, but
for what thanks? More often than not,
for next to no thanks at all.
For others the many should, in their
opinion, be living solely for the benefit of one. If the masses act like sheep then for what
reason should one not herd them as such?
Why should you not, if possible, use people as a means to an end? Someone is bound to do such and if you have
the ability, then why not that person be you instead of being herded by
For most, though, living is about
just that: being alive. We strive to
feel the rush of uninhibited freedom one feels when something so bold as
emotion collides violently with the grey drab that is our logic and
reason. Love. A rarity.
Something so beautiful we cannot even be sure when we’re in it’s
presence. Something mimicked, quite
effectively, by hatred. We attempt to
construct monuments to hope, reasons and rationale why this moment is unlike
any other moment, why this moment will never fade. Elaborate mausoleums decorated in spider-web chandeliers and worm lanterns, distractions from the truths we want so desperately to be lies line the paths we pace.
Epic battles of lust and desire
laying siege to the strongholds of wisdom and prudence rage endlessly in each
of our minds, spilling out onto the hills of our lives and in most cases, into
the minds of others. Countless moments
of wayward infatuation smash headlong into one another, the light from our
actions blinding us, skewing the path of moral righteousness. We indulge.
We dip ourselves into the pools of luxury, the luscious hot springs of
vanity and temptation. Our eyes sparkle
and our minds soar in the magic of moments, like pyrotechnic dreams. Like any other light however, this too
fades. It fades much more rapidly then
anyone ever anticipates or cares to acknowlege.
We attempt to rationalize our
misgivings and transgressions by using animalistic reasons, justifying our
otherwise socially unjustifiable carnal acts though arguments of nature and of
mindlessness. Fingers fly and scales are
tipped in an effort to relieve one’s self from the guilt laden on their
shoulders by none other than themselves.
Soon enough the bonds shared between individuals break down and the
trust that had so briefly contracted them appears ethereal, a gossimer strand
of silk, a reminder of the hope once held in the night. The webs we weave bear
witness to no equal in this world.
– The Captain