Choose Life

I had an epiphany and realised that life is merely a repetition of the same events until you're too old or occupied to repeat these events. After that, one falls into the repetition of new events which quickly grow old as well. Then Death.

So what makes life meaningful?

The exceptions that remain exceptional.

I can keep travelling. I can keep making music in different parts of the world, working with remarkable people and creating unique sonic entities. I can keep learning new languages until I exit this life, finding ways to express feelings and thoughts that I never knew were tangible because of my previous tongues. I want to research undocumented languages and dialects in remote existences, attaining proficiency and living amongst the people as a sympathetically adapted outsider.

I've always been an outsider, even in Trinidad where I spent the first 17 years of my life. I've accepted this. I don't know if I'll ever encounter a place where I truly belong but maybe that's what I'm to recognise... maybe I'm supposed to be exclusive only to the universe. After all, my visions of future are always solitary - walking down cobblestone streets or meditating in the jungles. It doesn't mean I feel alone, though. On streets I feel the lives of all who've tread before me, and in the jungles I shall make harmony with the Bengal tigers.

<-(me)

"Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else." - Trainspotting