Birds fly by flapping their wings

Its true, I thought, or at least it was at the time. The perpetual human struggle, the need to cope with the transitory nature of life. It is the most troubling thing to deal with. At all times and for every time. I feel it shake me awake, I cannot sleep early in the morning I shiver from the morning coldness. This strange chill never leaves me. I can feel each link of my icy vertebrae. My skin barely covers my bonees anymore. It hangs there limply, signifying nothing. After all these years, I have only succeeded in alienating myself from old and new friends and family alike. What comes natural to me is perceived as sickness to them. It is rude, perhaps even egotistical to present myself as the perpetual outsider, not even comfortable in his own skin. I stick to certain rules, certain modes of being that I hope would have helped-- to form forever strenghtening bonds. This is not so. A handful of friends and acquaintences keep me afloat. The one aching vessel I construct for myself lasts slightly over a year. Perhaps this is through no fault of my own. Perhaps people are guided by ther libidos more than anything else. I am either too consumed by fear or self-defeat to make much of myself. The moments when something good happens, I am too pushy or emotionally ignorant -- or both or neither for that matter. The waves drift over me still, I long to be swept out to sea, to feel my body surrounded by water. I don't want to see patterns anymore, to trace certain histories to their supposed endpoints. This is the final point, this is the conclusion I am faced with, a troubling icy state from which I will never be released. The only thing that takes my mind off it is space, that is to say, bucolic landscapes, expanses of green with trees and animals existing peacefully. The indiviual out in the world, at once bringing the world to others through the prisim of his or her being. This unkempt arrangement of ideas and facts places one in the gulfstream of everyday life. I seek to provoke and to champion the unknown, to unearth hidden desires and perspectives, to find individual personalities wrapped up in the larger picture. I study and take notes on my own self-prescribed course of learning as I have since I was born. I read constantly and occasionally see films. I haven't been listening to as much music as I'd like to-- although I really have to be in the mood to do that as it can be very distracting at times. Its just a question of sitting down and piecing together these ideas as best I can. To elicit a forceful reaction, the strenghth of persective tells a story. The individual perpetually alone in the world, for ever and for always, nothing makes sense until you define it on your own terms. Get the subject to admit or better, to evade his or her flaws. Admit that we are all shallow to a certain extent, that we all lack the substance we have occation to dream about. I persist now, actions born of habit and the need to explore what's left of this world. Then again, I insist upon 'persistence' in this moment, in the next I may just as easily be consumed by despair, by a flood of superflous desire, by the futility of ever 'persisting' forward to tomorrow.