vanity of vanities, all is vanity, and a chasing after wind.. how mighty a tower is the story we write for ourselves, and how bitterly we weep when it grows too wildly and collapses under its own weight. the stark reality of life, like gravity, incessantly pulls at the heights of our ambitions, compressing us like spines, searching for any crack in the vertebrae to exploit and bring the entirety tumbling down. how foolish, how vain, to write ourselves into glory, and worse, an unseen, unrealized glory; yet how universal a pain when one finally sees the glory unattainable. so ubiquitous, one cannot be blamed; all of human experience hinges upon the fall of the Story, and all of humanity mourns with you, in its own way.
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how mighty a tower is the story we write for ourselves, and how bitterly we weep when it grows too wildly and collapses under its own weight. the stark reality of life, like gravity, incessantly pulls at the heights of our ambitions, compressing us like spines, searching for any crack in the vertebrae to exploit and bring the entirety tumbling down.
how foolish, how vain, to write ourselves into glory, and worse, an unseen, unrealized glory; yet how universal a pain when one finally sees the glory unattainable. so ubiquitous, one cannot be blamed; all of human experience hinges upon the fall of the Story, and all of humanity mourns with you, in its own way.
i'm too poetic when i haven't slept.
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