Birthday Precious

A strange thing indeed it is to have something new in one's possession. This thing, this machination of inumerable complexities that even to look at the outer shell of its being is entirely incomprehensible to me. To not be and then suddenly to be is truly terrifying, like being born, as I was 21 years ago today. That is in and of itself a mystery to me. The other mystery being this me fellow who seems to think that he is worth while enough to type on this fringe of a typing implement. Where this being goes is more interesting than who he is. Who cares what colour an object is, an arrow is boring, I would rather witness it hit the target. Impact is interesting, not the detailed rigormaroo which superfluates the literary world. This is why I am unable to write narrative, or perhaps I am creating a new idea of what narrative is. I am not interested in the process, I care about what it will accomplish and where it came from. I have a tendency to cut off the beginnings and ends of my sentances, I know the middle, so I care precious little for it. I want to see the beginning and end. Those two moments which we are robbed of by reality. Since it is impossible to be conscious at one's birth, since even an old soul is unable to understand the new stimuli of a newly born child. The end is where we must seek the truth, that moment of death. "This is the end" spoke the wise prophet...I or we rather, are looking for the end. The problem with our physical reality is that we forget that we are not looking for the end, but rather the beginning, that experience we are excluded from remembering. We are looking for a birth that we can never have again, and since the momory is lost we never really experienced in the first place. We spend our lives looking for the end goal, but all we really find is our continual yet elusive beginning. And so I type on my birthday, that I am growing older, today I am 21 and my liver just turned 40. I must become a child again and truly smirk the smile which would allow me to jump off the edge as if my hands were always being held by come ineffable force beyond anything I could ever imagine.