Filling The Nothing With Nothing In A Way That We've Made More Room For The Nothingstuffs

So just the thought while passing on the highway on the way to get a passport (Oh the odd things the mind comes to term with while within glancing radius of glass-glance material, as I call the formerly referred to as: WINDOWS. I amble in my speech).

The somethingstuffs:

In a time much much earlier, when there was nothing at all. And to suppress the victory of the nothing at all, men created something. I like, as we all do, to call this something sought after yet once oh-so-attainable: "The Meaning of Life." Cheesy. Cliche. I know. And the somethingstuffs: the men would confer and converse in the visceral and vernacular of the current yet passed moments, and conclusions were reached! Lo! Behold! Aw hell: Lo AND Behold! Now let us hunt a muskrat.

That was it. They got it, by Jove and by Jove's muse as well! It was due to the nothing that the something was reached.

Supply into the story some 4 million years, shave or shade in 5 thousand or so? Ah the terms reached in THESE nothingstuffs time. For we filled that nothing with something that was really quite much of nothing. The somethingstuffs had grown tiresome and taciturn in expression, thus is born the nothingstuffs BEGUILED AS SOMETHINGSTUFFS! And we are all led down the shimmery, shanky path of the more exalted and hallelujahed nothingstuffs. But the earlier presented and somewhat accepted somethingstuffs are gone. Goodbye, somethingstuffs.

Now we are here. And we continue to misunderstand:

No one can find the meaning of life. They keep searching and searching and people keep adding in devices and buildings that will make us live some 50, some 70, some 100 long 365-day-filled terms! Here we are, in the midst of humanity, erecting immortality with a mere crane. It is unachievable. Do me no repercussions, but I fear that the second yet metaphorical Tower of Babel is in the process of being built, as it has for the past 4 million years passed. We keep it up, the supplies, the words, the everythingstuffs, to construct this glorious and invisible tower: reaching God in immortality, subconsciously rather mind you!-and yet we lose the larger window view. That it is unattainable.

Although, the cheesily monikered "Meaning of Life" is most certainly attainable. Easily. But the world is a black hole miles from Black Holes. What we fear--the loss of all, the loss of life, the loss, the loss, has driven us to a muted craze that seems not a craze at all. An avoidance of pain and contemplation. Yes we esteem ourselves as a creature of "not-this" habit, as I so readily admit I am as guilty as you to. I veer and I vile. This is not it. What was I saying? Ah yes.

So in effect, these nothingstuffs and just pushed us further back. In an attempt to reach truth, we substituted lying in the meanwhile while the truth was being put on hold, complete with the utterly despicable theme song of humanity (I call this tune--the laughter). Irony and lives and so heavily intertwined, even more so after this adaptation to the lies, that the two are as a coupled marriage pair: the vows cannot be broken by our human fingers, the cause of such grief and woe!

Woe! Woe! Woah...

It is done. Let it be done. Until it is undone, I will sit alone by my bedside in the 4 am's that my street neighbors regard as daylight (damn the nocturnal man of Earth), substituting my own perceived truths for my rightful spot in the dreary land of Nod.