More intriguing than talented. You know this - you've made a life of it. The measure of a man can be found in the opinion of others. Keep people wondering; they're most comfortable in the dark, anyway. Stay amidst the shadows; details hard to pin down near perfection in imagination. Always be as cryptic as possible; elusiveness is key. Convince those around you that you are a genius and you are one. Convince those around you that you are not bored and...wait...you're still bored. All right, so the theory only goes so far.
Garrulousness covers up a distinct lack of substance. A migratory lifestyle hides an absence of roots. Hyper-animation disguises the fact that you shuffle amongst the walking dead. The sum of these equal a deficiency of self. You find comfort in the dead ideas of dead men, and you build your own tenuous theories on the weak backs of these corpses like some grotesque cheerleading pyramid with your cadaver triumphantly kneeling atop. But the layers rot beneath you, ever-weakening, eventually giving way beneath the weight. The resulting pile of decaying flesh and ideas will take centuries to clean up.
And here's you at the end of the day, wishing it would have been more, hoping that tomorrow your own grand idea will come. Days spent waiting, a crushing weight. Others pass by, and you wonder if they're as bored as you. You search their eyes, looking for that spark which could light your fire. Provide a renewed sense of vigour. Verve. Help you leave behind this endless torment of a life, non-life. Carrion: the birds pick away, fighting amongst themselves, squawking: Carry on! Carry on!
Carry on, friend. In the mouths of worms, in the bellies of birds, carry on.
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