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loraxbootstraps's Journal

Inevitably, there comes a point in human life of absolute inertia, of being completely mired or entirely swept along. Reaching such a point is ultimately unavoidable, though for some this point becomes a continuum, a seemingly endless process of extemporality, of lost and forgotten control and purpose. These interial points bleed together into something hideous and synergistic, a system of living without volition.

Of this and through this life can be bled out, become an indistinct mass of indeterminate color, conssitency, tenor, and hue. A doldrum of sameness or a parade of chaos - the difference is measured only in amplitude; both lack native humanity.

I have come to prove a point, literally and on a number of really, really cool multifaceted metaphoric levels.

All such interia, all such waste, all such despair - all are mere symptoms of a central, basic inability.

The inability to man up.

This is a place and here I am a thing of manning up, at its most absolute, its most primeval, that which Job danced around for an almighty clusterfuck, that which Teddy Roosevelt breathed and sweated, that which Faust sealed into a German Bible.

The time has come to man up.
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