There sometimes creeps into this consciousness of mine interacting with others. Once I get beyond this manifestation of my own ego, there remains this pittance of listening to others. I don’t want it to be a pittance, and yet that is what I feel. Their concerns seem more pertinent to my own. Their worries far more worrisome to what matters to living. Kids, love (or loves), protecting what is sacrosanct to my own beliefs , relaying an expectation of what one nonchalantly¬† formerly sought after, and here this person remains in a state of worry I find hard to relate to. With knowledge pertaining to apparatuses divergent from my path, why does this path seem far less worthy than the one I espouse in my own mind? Only my belief that my path that I have wrought has more value to progeny than theirs. Yet, where can I validate this? How does one validate such a claim?

Then I escape to my drug of choice. These thoughts don’t lead to anything than to my own angst into dealing with how others relate to the outside world.

And here I remain, pondering how to transcend my menial state as if their concerns held no weight. As if what they have tried to

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