Running around.

You run around your whole life looking for something, and when it smacks you straight in the face, you don't know what to do with it. So you just run away from it, and then regret it when you're done running.

But then there are things you really, really want, because you think you do. But suddenly, all doors seem closed. And you’re shocked, because well – this is you. And you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever put your fingers on.

And you’re accustomed to getting things.

Even if it’s just been for throwing them away, recently. But it’s about the journey and not the destination, right?

What is there in the destination, anyway. Life is too short, and too worthless, to bother with anything much anyway.

What is the point, then?

Even if we end up running around our whole lives, looking for the point of life, will we really know what to do with it when it smacks us right in the face?

And what if it never does, and we never find out, never know?

Life is overrated.

Love is overrated.

Human Companionship is overrated.

Human Beings, are overrated.

Everyone and everything overrated.

And therefore, protecting my lungs from Tar and other 400 chemicals in cigarettes, is over rated.

And therefore, I’m just going to smoke till I cough my lungs out.

Why not?

Happiness is a myth.

World peace is a myth.

The belief that everyone is out to do good in the world, or the belief that ANYONE is out to do good in the world.

God is a myth.

Love is a myth.

Karma is a myth.

All illusions we’ve created for ourselves – to make everything much more convenient.

Fiction.

All of it.

Every human standard, every moral value.

Ignorance is bliss.

Myth. Fiction.

Lies that saved your soul.

And keep your heart glued together.

The difference between humans and animals is a minor one. That while animals can’t do much about what they are, humans can actually choose.

But we don’t.

Life is spinning the bottle and watching where it stops. And then taking it from there.

Life is a game of cards.

Life is, a bag of sharp pointy tacks. All scattered on the floor. So they’ll just push themselves on to your feet when you try walking away.

The stainless steel pushing into your flesh, tearing apart any skin that tries to come in between. And the warm blood gushing out and dripping over the cold steel.

Life is a million shattered pieces of glass. Like broken dreams, and broken hearts. Of all the people that you’ve run into. And the pile will only continue to grow, and grow. And grow.

Life is a cloudy day. The sun is there, but you have to be really, really looking for it. Otherwise, it’s just shit windy, and the wind blew away your umbrella. And it starts raining just as it did.

You have your genuine leather jacket on, too. And rain ruins expensive genuine leather.

Well, what is the point? What can money buy?

Only MTV. Cult philosophy.

Love and hate go so well together.

One couldn’t exist without the other, it’s hilarious.

But they’re not opposites, if that’s what you think.

Good is not the opposite of Evil.

Evil is not the nemesis of Good.

Why would you come into this world believing that?

There is no good or bad.

Yin and Yang are subject to the individual holding the concept of Yin and Yang in his or her mind.

Closure. Is a funny word.

I’d run around looking for it, all my life. And when it strikes me right in the face, I’ll pretend it didn’t. I’ll pretend it doesn’t exist, then.

If all else fails, I’ll shut out my mind, and run away from everything else that falls my way. Everything I’ve wanted, deep down inside.

Closure.

Close. End.

It really does close your mind and eyes to a lot of things. Maybe that’s why it’s called closure.

The end of possibilities. Experiences.

Closing.

I know where God is, by the way.

He’s in our television sets.

And our iPods.

And Rija says to me: “Sometimes you talk like God.”