There's little to quibble on when counting blessings, lest one questions the benefit of anything that extends the torment of existence. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune notwithstanding, such bleating is best left to those whose with no taste for battle. For this twisted circus is jam-packed with conflict, both material and mental, awash in a tempest of desires straining for what small victory a memory can contain. What fine blessing can become a relentless struggle, born of tears and blood only to end in few words unheard before dust claims it's own? What window dressing validates these scenes of bearable cruelty, cast with impertinent clowns whose incomprehensible antics mock the very meaning of fulfillment in their hapless fumble for what tiny attentions quell their miseries for a moment? Blessings they may be though, if they ease this torturous tumult in any fashion, be it a mere flirty distraction from the ubiquitous horror or some kind of quaint accessory whose flair lends itself to such monstrous depictions. If there is there any glory in this decaying orbit, it lies in one's ability to set aside that which is not onslaught, and claim it as sacred, despite it's origin.
No comments:
Post a Comment