To say this is the only thing on my mind is silliness. To put forth this as the only thing on my mind is equally absurd; however, one can’t help but wonder who (or what) to put to the highest.
Fear of having my dreams stolen?
Aha!
Let it be from this point on that I dedicate myself to Vaermina: a renegade among atheists. Because from the inside, I may be able to dream more of dreams and search. Because it terrifies me dreams are cast upon everyone equally, I must find refuge!
And work?
We’ll put that aside for now! Please! I beg you!
Oh my!
And what of all the juggalos who became disillusioned by the curtain revealing God?
Now, I am again forgotten and without purpose, because what of them?
Am I atheist again? An atheist juggalo so guided by the wealth and weight of a story?
‘We’re not sorry that we tricked you!’, if I recall correctly.
Surely that spun a few heads around, and did you see how they sank down like a spring and shot out 50x as strong as anything imaginable within themselves?
How long did I stay in denial?
The one thing I can speculate is, order comes from the chaos! And perhaps it’s true that too much order is a bad thing, but yet, we’re still subject to the blazing heat of a never-tomorrow. And it is for this that I am eternally grateful, for a chance at story… for better or worse. Let it be!
Then, there is the note of freewill, though there is no sense in fiddling with the thought so much; time flows one way on Earth, and so, I am certain freewill is restricted by a plea for survival.
And I don’t want to find out (if I have the choice) until all these fucking ducks get in a fucking row! I am so sick of these loathsome ducks never being where they ought to be! I am so fucking sick of them not lining up like I want them to!
Then, there is a quadrilogy of secrets inside me, endlessly fighting for supremacy: one I wish I could sing, one I wish I could confide, one I wish didn’t exist, and one that means nothing to no one. Surely the reason why giving my all to dreams and Vaermina is so persuasive. Surely the reason why a purgatory called the Carnival is so enticing.
I want to grow old enough to witness community work wonders.
So, what do I do, then?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Write, I suppose. In an attempt to orientate intent, I’ll write, and become a teacher in this short time—what I’d already done (maybe) a couple times. And if there’s more that spills from my fingertips, I’ll, thusly, put the virtual ink to the virtual paper with virtual methodologies in mind.
I wish I could play Minecraft right now. Easy living, easy explorer!
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