Infinity

Don’t think too hard about what is to follow. It isn’t meant to make sense. It isn’t meant to be understood. If it was supposed to be understood, then I would have made it understandable, wouldn’t I? I don’t care about what you really think. Just give me your compliments; just give me your praise. If you tell me the truth I’ll smile and nod, while inwardly wondering at what you’re trying to prove.

The colour of truth is an awful shade of green that nobody really likes. It’s one of those colours that’s available, but so few people paint with. It is only there to shock and awe. It’s one of those things to which we pay lip service, but we never truly appreciate. Truth is a dagger, driven into comfort’s heart.

The syllabus of creation theory is a manuscript written with the sole purpose of destroying reason. If we really wanted to think, we wouldn’t rely on God; instead we would rely on our own judgement, a flawed mismatch of chaos and misunderstanding, a troubled tool of uncertainty and confusion.

When the time comes for our own demise, will we run screaming into the night? When the time comes to pay the Pied Piper, will we haggle for a better deal? It doesn’t matter that we say we’re ready, when the real time comes we’re bound to find that our existence was both too short and too brutish. If we were happy with the little time we were given, then we’ve obviously lived too long.

Try to understand what I’m failing to tell you. Try to comprehend the beauty of my dementia. After I’ve committed suicide, I’ll be certain to clean up the mess. I’ll drag around my lifeless body and wash my carcass with the waters of forgiveness. Even if it then remains tainted, at least I tried to make the best of it. I’ve tried to take this moment and draw it into eternity.

The eternal moment continues into infinity. The boredom was excruciating. It was that extended bus trip, with us stick forever one third of the way through. It was that road trip with those people you called friends, but never really liked.

The bottom of the bottle draws near, but yet I’m too far along to believe I should end it. The last grains of sand are wasted on regret. Don’t hope for anything more than you’ve got. After all, only when we’ve lowered our expectations to where we’ve already met them will we ever be happy with what we’ve got.

I dream of the stars and how one day I will conquer them. I dream of a time where eternity is at my beck and call. It doesn’t matter that she’ll hate me. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. Ultimately I will just take her and even if she will hate our children for the pain they have caused her, the beauty of my love will eclipse the sordid way that I have created everlasting pain and destroyed her hope for redemption.