The End Is Nigh

The end is nigh. And there is nothing i can do about it.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

How to succumb to a fictional fallacy that we have created. This so-called life has become our shackles while we wander in a biological existence that can easily be proven, but impossible to disprove. Yet, we are forced to accept a fiction dictated by those who refuse to explain. I want an explanation. In this brief biological existence of mine, I require the best that is on offer. Not something created out of thin air, but something of the air that is already there. Something I can touch, and fell, and smell. I want to be George Carlin. I want to feel the deity.

But why? Is it a weirding? I don't know. I don't want to experience a doomed existence. I want to live. I want to live the way I want to. This is where I stand. In this brief biological existence.

The Weirding

What is "the weirding"? Is it the gerund form of the verb "to weird"? Does that word really exist? Who cares?

"The world spins out of tune / and there is nothing we can do to save her now."

So goes the chorus of Astra's "The Weirding". It is a weird concoction of sounds, passages, harmonies that make a whole that has more meaning than this sentence. But, who cares? It's the weirding. I'm weirding this blog.