Or maybe I'm just mapping out new ways to find a path to talk about depressed. Nothing is immediately wrong, but long term is up in the air and the stress of the attempt to figure out where things might land is flat-lining my ability to comprehend channels that run outside of mathematic doubt? I am in a funk. I've seen the rise of the range to climb and am set out with gear and guide and 300 miles and ten days later we are what feels like no closer in the range's foothills. Still, hand cupped to eye, tall grass marched, toward the snowy summit's bouldered base.
It is always difficult thinking about what the point is. To map uncharted territories? To have a point of reference? To exercise the brain and verify its function? To cope? To record history? Attack? Report? Defuse? Modify? Survive? You're bumming me out, man! What is the point? You could simplify things greatly by eliminating yourself from the equation. Speedometer, bruh. Yeah, yeah. There are many and a several reasons to be alive. Number one being that the planet is a phenomenal place all its own.
Number two being that the planet's weather, moods, and neighbors are just as magical. How could you not want to see what happens next? To hell with purpose. Have pleasure in you and your own adventure. To what end? For what purpose? For what reason? Dunno. Just thought it'd be fun. Just thought it'd be a sight. Just thought life alone is not all cupcakes and daydreaming and that's quite alright. Bad hands, bad turns, bad lands... I'm rhyming again. Bad hands and bad turns are just facts of being alive. No reason to quit. No reason to think about disappearing. No matter how absurd the turns get, how unfair the hands go out, stick with it. Don't quit. You never know if the next sunrises colors will be like anything you've ever seen before.
///Moderat - "A New Error"
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