poeM oF thE daY

The truth is
that almost everything we did yesterday,
almost everything we'll do today,
and almost everything we'll do tomorrow
falls into one of two categories:
that which allows our bodies to continue to survive
and that which distracts us from the meaningless movement from  
     one empty moment to another.
Our lives are no richer than those of peasants in the middle ages
or cave dwellers in more ancient times.
We may be warmer and fatter and have longer lives,
but we do exactly as they did: 
maintain the body and distract the mind.

And maybe that's okay. 
But it also makes me wonder, 
is suicide the only thing we can do which actually has meaning?
Is that great refusal to continue with this sham existence
the only way to let one's spirit take control,
the only way to lay claim to dignity and 
if not create meaning
at least deny that meaninglessness controls you?

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