You’ve decided there’s a stand to be made, some flag to be waved, a song to be sung on mountain tops at the top of your mortal lungs, boy.
All that stuff.
You huffed and you puffed and you made a calculated and arbitrary decision that a reasonable response to all you knew was not satisfaction; that you would reject satisfaction even if your best friend thought you’d chucked your capacity for calm contentment with it; that you would drag your ass and dying wit and perspective around the whole world for some small surprise, an interesting death and a mirror that would show you a face you could look in the eye.
This is epic. My new mantra. Thank you
Thank you very much Joe–that means a lot to me.