Painted Sun

Gil Scott Heron - Pieces of a Man

Sometimes it's so hard to just keep things simple; the seemingly empty-ended point of it all appears to be a meaningless exercise, especially when juxtaposed with the sweet and poisonous fruit of knowledge. Obviously I do not wish to appear intelligent, although I arrogantly think I am at most times, but understanding and learning things is such an addictive drug that reverting to a state of dull normalcy seems like death.

Take an animal or a person in some state of blissful equilibrium for instance, they happily, or more accurately unconsciously, wade through life's cycles without a single care in the world. It's as if there is no sense of individuality or choice. However, despite these circumstances, one can happily live unbenknownst to the wonders of the greater unknown. Nonetheless, once tasted, the poison of knowledge only perpetuates a hunger for more; an endless cycle of greed that ultimately (I think) leads to no where. Where can you go?

Even at the most base of levels, there are still problems. As an infant, there are problems.

I happily admit that my entries are verbose and pretentious, however, in my heart, I simply cannot settle for the mundane of the everyday. We have a spirit and it must be used or employed in such a manner that produces a sense that is worthwhile. It's what both drives me and perhaps destroys me.