Firstly because I’m supposed to.
Secondly because I’m scared to shit.
I just fully realized this, that I was scared, this last week while I was supposed to be writing, but instead I was stalling, avoiding, evading what was to be my masterpiece of unprecedented standard. A triumphant entrance to the world of writing outside of academic requirements. I got so excited about writing that I erected a stone wall around my typewriter in order to set it apart from the rest of my failed life, and now I ’m having a difficult time getting to it. Whoops. The truth is that I’m lazy. Or unresponsive. Or bored. Or depressed, detached, apathetic, dispassionate, or stoned. Or all of it and more. The real truth is that truth is not what it seems to be. It is a word that represents a subjective reality that only you can decipher. There is no absolute truth, no clear and definable interpretation that we can all agree on. Truth and democracy are figments of the imagination that help us to fool ourselves into thinking that we can make sense out of blasphemy and disorder.
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