It all begins with the idea that this is life. This is what there is. There's no other life but this life. When one realizes this, one becomes the prisoner who finally accepted the terms of his sentence, the chains shackled to his feet, and the bars that limit his walking space. The prisoner, who after years of hair-wrending, bar-biting, and heaven-cursing, will finally find the irony and humor in his placement. The prisoner learns his place, and would finish his sentence. As Camus said, just in that decision, the prisoner has given himself an absurd freedom. The prisoner gets to be free by choosing to spend his remaining time in incarceration. He gets to be above his fate, even though it's just existential masturbation.
That's when everything starts. That's when the old, resented bars become new and interesting. That's when the hateful becomes curious. That's when the endless possibility for humor, irony, and sarcasm is born. That's when you find this world fun in a quasi-sick and somewhat sincere way.
And so, you live. You live knowing all too well that it will lead to nothing. You live in chase for that smile and laughter, fleeing the tears and pain. You have to play the role of a human being, living life to the fullest since that would be the option least encumbered by the yokes of absurdity. You drink heavily the wine of existence, for it's better to be drunk in it and forget about your powerlessness regarding your forceful placement. You live, because the charm of the rebel has an expiration date.
You begin to live, because you are shocked by the fact that what you know is but a microscopic particle of what existence has to offer.
This is why I love people who seriously tried and got burned. My wish is to be among their number.
No comments:
Post a Comment