Baby, You're No firework


New member
Just some food for thought I enjoyed.

Let’s face it: there are a lot of sad, lonely, desperate people in our world. The alienated soul knows this well enough, for he is one such person. But being one of the lonely ought never be confused with claiming solidarity with the lonely. The alienated soul is too proud to associate himself with any group, though he isn’t too proud to own his patheticism. He knows that he is despised and forgotten, an underground man, of little significance or regard, more an amusement to others than a legitimate force with which to be reckoned, a minor threat at best. But at the same time, he’ll take no psychological handouts, thank you very much. He knows that he’s on his own, and much as he may wish it were different, he’ll stay the course for the duration, serving out his time as a dutiful, purposeful prisoner, cultivating his garden and honing his craft all the while, shunning overt bitterness. If life is disappointing, complaining about it does no good; best to cultivate a stoical outlook and resolvedly accept your meager portion.
All is despair, and even the fire of the communal popular culture is insufficient to dispel the sadness which poignantly shreds my joy. I am a broken man,
reduced to fortifying my heart in order to gain the love of those I'm left without. How
can my heart not sing for that which I have never known? If my dreams can fulfill my ambitions and satiate my longings
are they not worth entertaining, even as the corporeal wax I inhabit melts and the clay of my mind deigns austerity?