tell me, what did the caspian sea?

This is what all of you want – a wild fanatical belief in salvation, more whole than yourself, more complete than the cosmos, the absolute validation of any utter devotion. You want to give it into something that saves us, put existence into its hands and let it breathe redemption back into our faces. That is what you all want, and when finally you encounter it, like i have today, and find it all too beautiful, you shall crack like a china plate under flat, vertical pressure. You may not be able to resign yourself to the void, that all-comsuming blackness, the absurdity of action, everything preconceived. You may resent being machinery, and resent that even your hatred is forced, sterile, predictable. You may distract yourself – shut up the world in a room in your head and colour pages in with love and jobs and sex, you may be reduced to filling storybooks with science, and finding rectangles in shells, or drawing numerical waves into the sea, but the belief will seek you out, and then you will know –– that this is the meaning of little man, its all a game, its all a game.
Happy new year everybody. Any schism in time is a good excuse to celebrate pathetic existence – have a great year ahead, and remember that if everyone kept to their new year’s resolutions, gyms across the world would be in utter chaos and the health support industries would deflate like walking zebra balloons going across thumbtack-candyland.