Such a Mud

Do you ever wonder why you reach a point in life and find it hard to do anything but question everything?

Your long standing beliefs, your values, your choices both past and present, your life…

It seems the more open and honest we become with ourselves the more we realise just how shitty a person we really are, or perhaps that’s just me. Either way, the underlying selfish nature of my ilk runs deep in our veins, along with that unique gift of understanding and still being able to not care. What a hollow version of the species we are.

With all the political uproar of late it’s funny to see what people really think and how blind they re to those around them who think differently and they’re none the wiser.

An acquaintance wrote something that was truly ironic –

“You don’t get to complain about the way things are if you don’t contribute to the situation.

Moral of the day: contribution reaps respect, and results.”

The response from me was a simple one, she will no longer be able to complain, unless she wants the mantel of hypocrite. The answer I got for my truthful jest was one you would expect from someone without any perspective on the world –

“Basically. This is for a particular issue tho.”

So has well meaning words but they don’t apply to her, won’t apply to her when her ego feels under attack. Peoples integrity is so weak it’s hard to believe.

Somedays it would be nice to drift off in to sleeps embrace and never wake up, just to get away from all the dullards. That won’t be happening for some time, sadly.

Why is it we are told time after time that we are in control of our own lives, destiny, or what ever other way you want to describe it and yet that just simply isn’t true. We are in control so much so that it falls in line with what fits the status quo or agendas of the puppeteers. Perhaps this is why we try to create the false image of who we are, someone that fits so that we don’t have to handle the hassle that will come wth being who we really are. I do wonder.

Ungrateful, so ungrateful we have become.

So complicated the world now is.

So censored.

So sensitive and weak.

So confusing.

So broken…

Is it just me who sees this?

Our lives are only for rent, we don’t get to keep them, or anything we do and have in them. Nothing we have is truly ours, but if that is the case, why does everything feel so important?

Many questions will go unanswered, so I guess none of it really matters.

What do you think?

 

 

 

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