WE SHOULD CRAWL UNDER THE BRACKEN

One day it all won't matter. All the screaming (both at night and during the day), all the useless tug and pull that is life, all the tears shed for no one and nothing, all the meaningless words fallen on deaf ears... none of it matters and it never will. We were born to suffer, to maim and be maimed. To jump through hoops of fiery rings--only to land in a swirling pool of lava. We chide ourselves that this is it: to fight and fight and fight and fight and fight and fight and fight and then die. In our minds we make up a fantasy to ward off reality. We escape in books, movies, games, drugs, alcohol, sex, work, religion. But we're zombies; we go to our allocated places of congregation, we portray our allocated roles appropriately and with zeal. But we haven't been aware of what we're doing and saying for millennia. We're hopelessly asleep... and in slumber do we dream... dreams of passion and dreams of horror. Life and death. And then...?