A lonesome toddler with a bowler hat, grey hair and crystal black eyes ponders life in his room as his eyes tear and his sad, bitter lips vibrate, signalling a faint sense of bottomless sorrow, not more distinct simply because he has been caught by the temporary, comforting daze of the anguished man’s madness.
The lonesome child is quite old now. A child at heart. Isn’t that what people yearn to be? But even a happy child starves if he doesn’t get fed. This lonesome toddler had starved all his life. Ah, such a waste of his innocence. In fact, less than a waste, his innocence played a big part in his misfortunes. The crazy are innocent. The innocent may allow many angelic circumstances to come which the mature would never, but the innocent is so gullible that at any point he might allow an ink-black needle to pierce through his Iris.
The lonesome toddler with grey hair... I have strayed from his story for quite some time, but it’s only because his story is quite short. Shall I tell you? Well, it is fairly dull. The lonesome toddler has done nothing interesting for his entire life... he thought of something interesting he might do... he looked at his memory storage to see what interesting things he had done... he has done nothing interesting for his entire life... so he continues to do nothing interesting for the rest of his life... This was it in essence. Where is he at now? Come on, you fool! He has fallen. Don’t be sad though, if you want to meet the grey-haired man - he is alive. He is everywhere, he dies countless times, and he will die a countless man. The miserable man dies a thousand times but lives not once.
You know what it’s like being sorrow itself? It’s terribly sad. I look at anything; a coffee cup, some tree, a shadow on the wall, it all disgusts me. It all horrifies me. It all makes me miserable. I look at nothing though - and I see peace. However, I don’t reach for nothing, I figure I might be something. Who knows. There he is, I see him right now, he’s walking towards a blue bridge. A different, innocent toddler with grey hair. Shall we watch him together? He’s walking by the edge of it now, touching the cold, damp metal of the bridge as he walks towards the centre in the dead of the night. The poor soul. What do you figure? Ah, he is looking at the still water. He looks at the vivid lights of buildings distorted by the shapes of the water. He smiles faintly. You know he’s a man of art. Ah, he is taking off his hat. He is weeping. He throws the hat in the river. It floats. He climbs over the railing of the bridge. Ah, he stands on the other side now. He takes a glance at the sky. At the buildings. At the water. He... he sees his bowler hat float by the vivid lights of distorted buildings and the sky. He climbs back into the other side of the railing. He walks and walks, occasionally catching glances back at his floating hat.
That is what happened, my reader. You have faith in me, right? Ah - I bet you had more before I asked that. People have faith until they are reminded that they do, at which point, some stop to have faith. The others, which still do, occasionally have it better, occasionally have it worse. belief in anything is of course meaningless if it doesn’t help you. But then again, it’s just as mind boggling a challenge to reach success as it is to find out what it even is. Even once you’ve reached it, you may have not sorted out what the hell it was. It runs away in a second and you have no idea what went missing. The master of the subject would be that which went on a trip through a hell of excruciating torment which led him to find out what was good in life - after which he would somehow have to manage to make it back to life with the answer. Does the person exist? Has he made it back alive? Who knows. Hope. Far more difficult than maintaining it - is finding it in the first place. Finding hope to grasp onto in a world so cold and vicious is a seemingly impossible task. So I achieved it for you.
The man with the bowler hat is at a bar now. He is drinking, and he found someone interesting to talk to. Someone with a bowler hat, too. I have given you faith. Can you maintain it? No, that’s not enough. Having hope is having a paint brush, some paint and a blank canvas - nothing more. Also, if you had no hope for so long, you must suck at painting. You have work to do. Because you do, I will be seeing you a lot more. Inspired? If so, good. If not, better. Having inspiration is having a pet dog - except that it attracts fetal infections, chocolate, heart failure, the wheels of cars, and dog murderers; in essence, the dog perishes quick, and the benefit will not exceed the detriment. Well, sometimes it does, but still, never rely on inspiration fuel. Strive to be a cactus plant; a being which simply grows towards the sunlight whether it becomes inspired or not. Never wait for something which requires waiting. It is a foolish thing. In fact, never wait for anything, instead, always do - because when you do, you also wait.