My purpose...?

And here is my stream of thought:

At the moment all I can see is my subconscious...and it is malleable. It is an awkward putty like substance that seems to constantly wrap itself around this thing called "Life." However, as if rejected by some electric current, it forms a hollow shell--literally translated to an egg (that of an ostrich, or to be more exotic: the Emu).

Here is my subconscious (I promise to make the repetition of "subconscious" as annoying as possible before I end this rant, and after I make it apparent) symbolized by the very thing that represents Life; the very thing that represents Rebirth. And here I am completely angry with the way I have thwarted myself from achieving the goals that another Me could have done in his sleep.

Where am I different from "i?" Why was i so talented, while I can't seem to buy a pair of shoelaces to replace the ones Brus ate out of Anger?

who are you, little i?
(of 5 or 6 years old?)

Yes, I stare at the gold of November sunset and I weep-- I weep because I've lost, and that which I've lost can never be replaced.

Q: What can you put into a barrel, that makes it weigh less?

A: A Hole.

Experience seems to erode this shell; my life seems to be encased in this protection that is slowly cracking. And while I have not this hole, I have a very prominent crack forcing me to think ahead; forcing me to worry about what is to become of the contents of this egg.

Only then I remember: my egg is hollow. And then I remember that I am just a man trying to wrap his head around something he can't see, but knows is there: Purpose.

-T

Tolerance

Such funny creatures they are. If you throw a frog into boiling water, it will quickly jump out. However, if you place him in lukewarm water, and slowly raise the temperature over time, he'll grow tolerant of it, unaware that he's being boiled alive--he dies. I want to meet the scientist that came up with that experiment.

Funny creatures, they are...funny creatures indeed. The frogs are funny too...