The Crazy Ones

We must always continue on, fighting and hoping that what matters is breathing, and today itself is defiance for us, the crazy ones, for whom our restless human existence is thought. We breathe in. We breathe out. We keep moving.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep on moving. Motion is life. Animate you. Never stop. If you hide the cracks with well-oiled distraction you can probably make it through the day.

Why do we continue fighting and knowing that the game is rigged against us and ours and tomorrow, and forever, with glittery lies and broken promises of false relevance?

What matters is today. Breathing is defiance. Being is a triumph when life seeks to crush your fragile hope and fading joy beneath the ever-moving treads of cold progress.

We are nothing. Crazy ones who march without knowing our destination, desperately praying that in the end we find a way to subtly trick our foolish selves into believing that the journey was the point.

Our selfish impotent rage changes nothing in itself but our perception. It’s not about the understanding or any storied Hollywood triumphs of human will. It’s all about breathing in and breathing out.

Today we must continue, else all other days become pointless and reaching this inevitable point means nothing in the melee that is our restless human existence and thought.

One more day is all I ask. Just one more pointless act of defiance and brevity. Lift your head and wipe your brow, put on your armor and sallie forth for just one more battle.

You will not win. You cannot. It’s not the nature of our frail human existence. Death claims us, all of us, in its own time and its own way, sneaking beneath the satin veil of our carefully constructed distractions.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep moving. Motion is life. We must always continue on, fighting and hoping that what matters is today, that breathing itself is a defiance for us, the crazy ones.

We must always continue on, fighting and hoping that what matters is breathing, and today itself is defiance for us, the crazy ones for whom our restless human existence is thought. We breathe in. We breathe out. We keep moving.

~ Wicasta Lovelace

The Crazy Ones
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