Soul Trash 9.0
Some people may find fulfilment in caring for cats. Others may take solace in handling heaps of work, with backlogs and deadlines looming large like phantom vultures, draining yet invigorating all at the same time. Another soul may be fine just watching the world go round and round. Feeling, surviving, if not exactly thriving.
What exactly drives us humans to persevere in the face of adversity?
What exactly motivates us to get out of bed instead of offing ourselves before our sanity slips and we trade hurt and pain with each other?
What exactly compels us to flee reality and plunge into the depths of our unfathomable ocean—where sunrays are denied entry and stone-cold silence reigns supreme, with occasional visits from sinking ships brimming with stuttering sirens and sunken-eyed sinners?
What exactly maroons us to this desolate speck in the universe where dreams are built and broken and clichés and pretentious prose abound? Here, as we both grieve and celebrate our very existence, riddled with ambitions and anxieties and triumphs and wholesome moments and failures and fucking follies, the arrow of time never once strayed from its fixed trajectory. And, in reality, as in fantasy, endless blabs get us nowhere yet take our mind EVERYWHERE: racing and pacing and crying and dancing and laughing and hating and hurting and healing and dealing and adulting and breaking and fighting and rising and falling and blanking and coping and walking and running and racing and pacing and crying and dancing and laughing and hating and hurting and healing...
Then again, jotting all of this down might well be enough for now (or now... or now...) to convince me to keep going for yet another day.
