If Life Is Misery, Why Do We

The Truth Is We Never Stop Being Children, Terrible Children Covered In Sores And Knotty Veins And Tumors And Age Spots, But Ultimately Children, In Other Words We Never Stop Clinging To Life Because We Are Life.

Death, In The Eastern Tradition, Was Only A Passage. What Wasn't Clear ... Was Toward What Place, What Reality, That Passage Led.

But Every Single Damn Thing Matters! Only We Don't Realize. We Just Tell Ourselves That Art Runs On One Track And Life, Our Lives, On Another, And We Don't Realize That's A Lie.

The Pain, Or The Memory Of Pain, That Here Was Literally Sucked Away By Something Nameless Until Only A Void Was Left. The Knowledge That This Question Was Possible: Pain That Turns Finally Into Emptiness. The Knowledge That The Same Equation Applied To Everything, More Or Less.

I Decided To Tell The Truth Even If It Meant Being Pointed At.