I wrote this back in October, and thought it was pretty impressive, considering the source:Life is a bitch, and then you die. Someone once said that, paraphrasing a paraphrase and continuing the tumbling phenomena known as unoriginality. Despite the saying's dubious origins, an element of truth is contained within. Life truly does suck. Or at least many of the long tedious roads travelled leave that as a permanent etching onto the soul known as my existence. People come, money goes, times get hard, and yet somehow we find a way to keep on going. This absurd stubbornness is often referred to as hope, a last bastion of human existence that keeps the flame burning, despite the torrential rainfall and dangerously sparing amounts of oxygen and fuel. The minute quantities of the necessities for the flame to continue flickering and coughing are often fueled by the small victories that we often stumble across. We often leave our fates to hang in the wind, hoping that a change of the currents can somehow stem the mighty tidal wave of failing and despair. We can will the wind to change all we want, but unless we somehow master the insurmountable weather, a simple willing is not enough to postpone the inevitable, let alone turn the tides. Even if we can't reverse our fortunes or fates, we can at least fan the flame, keeping it going much longer than it should. Sooner or later we know that the flame will sputter its last, finally giving into the odds when the small victories have finally come to an end. In the meantime, I'll just kick back and light me up a nice, soothing cigarette. Fuck the bastard known as fate, he may claim me in the end but at least I'll go with a smirk on my face.