i live to let down.

Not today. Today i am disenchanted with the world's mysteries. Today i want the simple life of the hermit, hiding in his cave, detached from human contact. We are never content with satisfaction. Never satisfied with contentment. All i can feel today is discomfort; heat, hunger, exhaustion. I care not in the slightest for imperatives and truths. Lead me to the rock that is higher than i, for i am so low there are blisters on my feet. It is never enough to try harder, feel deeper, profess louder. All i have lost and al i have gained become nothing more than rough drafts of what is still to come. I care not for this waiting, silent agony of hoping predictions of tragedy are less likely - though understandable. Don't give to receive. Concerns for my worth grow heavy yet weary. I am weary. It is just so. Pen to paper brings nothing but sadness, for which i haven't the energy. Find me that off-button, put me to sleep, it makes no difference.
It makes no difference.

(14.10.09)