How should one start a short musing on life. Perhaps I should sprout a cliche or two for the readers enjoyment. Perhaps it should be clever, perhaps refer to a man long dead who wrote on topics more fine. I could do both no doubt, with time. I could wax lyrical about many a fine songbird past. But maybe it is best to start in the middle instead. But as it is by definition necessary to start perhaps I will start with a whitisism. Perhaps you will laugh. Perhaps not. On the whole perhaps not. But that is ok, for I write not for you. Nor, if I speak truly, for me. Not for my anger not my fear. My sadness or my guilt. Perhaps I write for nothing. And perhaps that is best.
Then how does one write the middle of such a piece? Should I comment on a thought, or giver my thoughts upon a comment. I might spin a web of sadness and loss to make you cry. Perhaps I might bring tears of joy to fall with mention of times long gone. Then again perhaps I might not. In the end it is safer to forget. To move silently on to the ending in hopes of inspiration.
Now the ending, how should that go. A lesson maybe, a wise insight. Something to make you think. A moral from me to you. Given without purpose, received without intention. Perhaps I should raise the pulse of well meaning drones by hinting at harm. Perhaps I should optimise to gather a number, an army of nothing to follow me home. But no. Again I slide back into apathy. For what can be done with an insight or pun (or rhyme?) Perhaps it is best. I will pretend no more at this folly. I will leaver insights for the wise, stories for the interesting and shock for the rich. I will try and sleep. For perhaps there is nothing greater a man can do but dream of a world more perfect, a world unhindered by greed and pointless stories.