The Waste Land

Sometimes something as simple as poetry excerpts remind me there's a point to living and that life is beautiful. I used to worry that that was a dumb reason to live, but now I realize there is NO reason to live, no point in life. And that's not depressing, it's wonderful and liberating. My brain has been thinking the wrong way all alone; it's time to reprogram. Every time i feel a stress about a decision, or try to make a choice for the "right" reason, I need to stop and look at what I'm doing and thinking, and why. This is exactly what Ayn Rand meant by selfishness.

I sat with Jason drinking wine, listening to a beautiful song, sitting in the sun, and I realized that's exactly what I want an thats exactly the point of life. Everything I love, everything I want to do..I should do it, embrace it, and enjoy it. Of course, there are limits to consider which is where it gets tricky. But that's okay.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering	5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? I will show you fear in a handful of dust. I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence. THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. 7 After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience