I’m trying to find out how life works. In other words does it work like this or that? It’s a simple thing really, but the sum of so many interlocking and altogether very complicated things, but, you see, I go by the rule of Occam’s razor, and but, but again where to start to get to the razor, the thin edge of the blade, is actually the opposite. To go through life’s complexities, life and science and thought and madness and religion and love and the winds and movements of the stars and the mechanisms of a flower, is far from simple, but simplicity is the aim and the goal, which are the same thing, and you can see that it is simple in the end, because it is all the same thing, and there must an answer to things that are the same. I have worked out a plan of some sorts, a plan that will probably fail even if it were to be put into full effect, which is not possible, believe me. And believe me, do, when I say I must do this. An attempt is necessary, to unravel these mysteries and answer the question of how things have ended as they have, how things have got to this point, how I am here but, you see, and you must see it, not a success, not with a light and burden-free conscious, not satisfied, not free. I am working on the premise that I am not special. That the things I have done and the things that have happened to me have not happened because I am me, but because I am, and that anyone else might have been in my place and that they are not merely out of this and not that rather than this is this and that is that. If I am making myself clear. What I mean, I am not me because I am me, and you are not you because you are you, what I mean is that I am me purely by the accident of not being you and you are not me purely by the accident of me not being you. And vice versa. And this is what “this” is. This is accident. This is what I wish to prove. Because if there were a reason or a plan or a fate, if there were three bent-backed women weaving a grotesque and unfashionable clothe that was each and every person, that would mean that I am standing where I am today, wracked, destitute, wanting to eat my own face out of disgust over myself, my soul, my hands, my mouth, and other parts of my body, especially other parts of my body, parts of my body that were touched by hands that should never have reason to stray there, that would mean I am standing here because of a reason. And that would not do.
Disgust over yourself? Maybe all you need is a gym membership. Or a good lay. If you're not special now, maybe you can make yourself special to someone. Anyway, you're 22, better enjoy life and youth while you've got it. Only comes around once, in case you haven't heard.
Erm... Writers forum? The only disgust for myself I have is that I might be about to get my first filling. Besides, I can't afford the gym, I run. Oh yeah, and that the above is crap, it was a bit of a joke when I wrote it, I think, long time ago. I am enjoying, but, or I will be when my exams are through. You're right about a good lay, though.
If you're running in London, there may be a smog problem. Love it or leave it. I can help you with the lay. (Axiom: every male considers himself a good lay, regardless of age or condition.) Just joking of course. Running is a worthwhile pasttime offering big payoffs in fitness and self esteem. Stay with it.
