The Right Choice

You know, I’ve made so many right choices in my life, and so many wrong, and in the end it hardly seemed to matter. Some of the very best choices I’ve made led to hell. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, though. And there were times when I thought I was being foolish, irresponsible, maybe even just plain crazy, but I just couldn’t help myself, I had to do it… and in the end it led to wonderful things. And all of that, just the other way around.
meadow-680607_1920
Christ, how am I to find my way like that? No fucking system, just probabilities, possibilities… it’s enough to drive a man insane. Especially a man like me, an organized, systematic type who sees flaws in the system and wants to correct them. Correct it, for Christ’s sake, make it whole, make it make sense. As if I could correct the vagaries of life, as if life was a bloody fucking workflow. As if I could force it to be like it should.
Perhaps all that is normal, and most people just accept it and go on without a further thought. No pattern, no system, inherently flawed. Perhaps I am a stupid sick fuck because I think about it. Nevertheless I am still trying to understand it all.
It’s as if I had heard of the perfect poem in which lie all the answers I’ve been looking for. I’d always known that this poem must exist, and I climbed the hermit’s mountain to read it, only to find that some asshole has killed him and torn it to pieces. There they lie, flecked with blood, and I frantically collect them as they blow away in the wind, crying the while, because this can’t possibly be… God, the injustice of it! Blowing away in the wind! No!
What’s left is a collection of gibberish. little bits of paper with one or two words on them. Even if I manage to piece some of them together, they are incomplete. Even if I spend my entire life on it, I will never be able to make sense of it. I sit here, moving the pieces around, combining, rearranging, again and again, trying to find the right way, until I feel like dashing my head against the wall.
And all the while I have the sneaking suspicion that I am on a fool’s errand. That bastard inner voice is telling me that the man who killed the hermit was on the same mission as I am. Another crazy idiot looking for the answer. I just know that the hermit told him there is none. I just know that is why he killed him and tore it all to pieces, and that, in the end, the laugh is on me.
Gimme a drink.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s