Surrealism Via Mortality

       I can't focus, ink splattered thoughts flit through my conciousness, inane streams of lost words pull me every which way, I follow distant lights like a gnat, wings stirring against the night, chasing an elusive song over the treetops; such is the beauty of being mortal. We are fleeting and entropic beings; strings snap, you learn to fingerpaint,  poetry finds its place at your fingertips, time is rendered irrelevant, a hero falls, and thoughts dissipate like smoke in the rain. What does it mean to you? Nothing of course, it's an endless cycle of puppets and we all stand accused, our strings prone to the slightest twitch of another's fingers. Why do we cling to our strings? Time, and impulse, and honest contentment do not care for the judgements of others, why do we? Mortality is wasted on the dishonest; they live only to not live for themselves, they can't appreciate how fleeting and chaotic existence is. They can't see an object or a thought as a thing with endless facets and uses just waiting to be explored to the fullest extent. Instead they apply the concerns and judgements of a blind world to everything they come across, slapping labels and price tags across everyone and everything. Don't get me wrong, other people are wonderful; they are wonderful as depthless wonders to be explored, rather than islands to cling to when you doubt your own strength. Mortality is an absurd and wonderful venue that allows you to immerse yourself in the thoughts and things that make you content. An immortal would think himself grand and meaningful for the first few eons or so, but then begin to question and doubt and spiral into a complacent boredom; that is a fate best left to the insincere. Mortality is a beautiful thing, you experience existence with a careless intensity that crams infinite lifetimes into an absurd, wonderful flame, fueled by the knowledge of a omnipresent imperminence looming on the horizon. For me, mortality is not the condition of having an imminent end, but instead the condition of not knowing what looms just around the corner. There could be an afterlife or a ressurrection or a sudden end or a recycling of life; the beauty is in not knowing. The beauty is in that insane epiphany of knowing what makes you happy, and knowing that you should start doing that as soon as possible. It's a fucked up, wonderful world kiddies, go give 'em hell.