The truth is an incomprehensible singularity, divided only by the lies we tell ourselves, or, more precisely, by the lies our selves tell. There is no cause and no effect, no reason or purpose, no progress and no change. There is no story to be told and no plan to be made.

To be is.

These facts should not dissuade. They do not justify throwing up one’s hands in defeat. Just because there are no rules of an absolute sort, no natural order to be found, does not mean there is no game to be played. A children’s game does not begin with a handbook and a committee; it is born of the imagination, organized by a spirit of cooperation, and played for the joy of play.

This thing we call life is nothing more than a children’s game.

Those that will to command, control, and generally despoil the game of life are no different than the petulant brat, the bully who takes and withholds or the one prone to fits and tantrums, maladjusted and ill-mannered. Sadly, like the smallest, meekest of children, we are wont to give in to these fearmongers and tyrants, allowing them positions of authority, dignifying their disruptive behavior with titles and rank, providing them with resources and arms. We supplicate in their presence and call it compromise.

To compromise is to introduce weakness. It is not a noble thing. Barter, exchange, these are noble acts, acts which leave each party subjectively satisfied, all parties the better for having reached accord. When parties reach an agreement but one or all are left wanting, a compromise has occurred. Compromise is the way of misery and injustice.

Though truth is ineffable, we do not lack for its experience. Truth is present in joy, in beauty, in love. There is no truth in fear, suffering, or hate. Anxiety, aggression, and intolerance are nothing more than signs that our rules are flawed. When children recognize the rules as accepted are flawed, they adapt the game. Children’s rules are fluid, dynamic, and predominately fair. When the bully or bastard ruins the game, takes his ball and goes on, the pleasant child drifts off in search of a new game, free of the brat’s ignorance.

The meek will not inherit the earth for they already possess it, in spite of the sociopath’s belligerence and compromise.

Let the bullies have their governments and wars, their hierarchies and churches, their bullshit and their baubles. We have no reason to play their game, and they have no right to our labor or respect.

I just want to play…

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