Tickle me ever so kindly

Can you keep this a secret? I type on here just for my own kicks. I'm sure no one reads this, or ever gives a damn. No one really gives a damn when you think about it. We're all here worrying about our own way out, our means to our end. And we'll keep all our memories in shoe boxes, with rubber band wrapping them tightly so we never feel like looking. Cluttered, unfiltered, undescribingly lucrative to get away from this all and keep on a current path of tomorrowness. That somehow tomorrow is the day. Today isn't even alive, isn't the past, isn't the future. What is now? What is tomorrow? What really, is yesterday? Why the hell are we alive? Why do we dream? Why do we walk in circles, and cry when we die? Isn't this life beautiful? Why do people hurt? Why are there catastrophes, and why aren't we in space yet?

It's a good breather to take a second to contemplate life's foibles. Not so much get stuck in history, but never really linger on the now.. Where is that place I speak of? Is it something unknown? Is it contemplation? Is it prayer? Is it thinking? The time we all use to stop and plan our lives, what is that time called? A waste?

Lordie, so many questions, and so many people not around to answer them. So many gods not around to listen to them. So much of me that doesn't give a rat's ass enough to fulfill the conclusions. Oh man, good night.