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Every Life Ends In Tragedy ... March 03, 2005
been thinking about how growing up is like a walk out of a garden into a desert. what i mean is, you start in the middle of the garden. it's the most beautiful place you will ever be. a perfect epicenter. a paradise so perfect, you can't even really remember what it was like to be standing in the middle of it once you start your journey out and away. for some reason, maybe you're just innocently following the anonymous backs of others ahead of you, not knowing they are leading you anywhere, but you feel the need to follow. maybe you see others leaving, and because of your innocence, you don't realize you shouldn't imitate them. you see their identical bodies falling into line and you look down, decide you are like them, and that, being like them, it seems logical to do as they do. anyhow, you start walking, following the path worn smooth by eons of bare feet. the plants become drier, almost sick-looking, as you walk. weeds encroach on the path and smother out the well tended flowers that, only a little while before, smiled at you with bright petals and tickled your ankles. yet still you keep moving, determined to be like the others you see around you, assuming that somewhere up ahead is the one who knows where you are going. you hope that this leader, wherever he is, is taking you somewhere good. you pray that the goal is worth the journey. eventually, all you can see for miles around you is a grey, dusty wasteland. and yet you still follow those who are ahead of you, you are still full of hope. but in the end, just as you are starting to miss the cool, clear streams that endlessly fed the center of the garden, you come to the pile of desert dried, vulture picked bodies and realize you have, in fact, merely been next in a never ending march toward death.
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