How can one do something of substance when your mind is in a state of complete disarray?
It's an exercise in futility although one now realized that spontaneity is not equal to our sense of judgment and direction.
How can one unclutter his mind of impure thoughts, crazy ideas and magical impulses without being punched in the gut in return?
One can try as he must but until hell freezes over it will not matter.
Why can't we just purge the remnants of the past and just shove them deep in our sorry asses, then?
Who really cares whether one is lonely or happy? Who gives a fuck on how and what one feels or thinks? Who cares whether one is right or wrong? How can one pour his soul onto something and regret it in the end?
Nobody but the damned themselves but who gives a fuck.
^^Photo @ the ledge of the '103 floors, 1,353 feet in the air' Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) Skydeck.