There are times when you will not like the sound of my voice

We are never as we wish we were. Entropy, the cruelest law of the universe, constantly acts to rob us of the very things we want so much to possess – life, vitality, completeness. The oft-repeated quote that hope is simultaneously man’s greatest strength and weakness deftly flays the problem out on the table for all to see. By definition, we are imperfect beings, forever seeking perfection, never to find it on this plane of living. However, the glimpses of it we get are enough to make us disdain both this life, and pine for the one we cannot understand -- and loathe the source of these revelations. A clearer picture of the whole makes us despair at the weight of effort required in a single lifetime, so we shun understanding for the menial, the narrow, the reduced view. Happiness is confusion; explaining the minutae of any situation robs it of its ephemeral value. Questioning, though, is the only path to an existence lived beyond the encumberance of skin; the burden of survival and a linear existence built on requirement, responsibility. People need one another for the neurons to fire and for emotion to flame, but man is bestial and capable of destruction on a scale we can only imagine at our darkest hours. I hate what I love while I love it; this is the Cartesian jar we are in. To trust is weakness, to doubt is unhappiness. A stellar seesaw we totter upon, never to find the middle until it’s too late, until the lessons are sharp and warm like blood from a fresh cut. Neither feeling nor thinking are enough, and both are a beautiful burden that will tear us apart.

It's good work if you can get it.