blood_red_sharpie_brave_new_world once again Is indifference really the answer? Should we cease to care, would our problems all be solved? Are we living in a brave new world? Does nothing matter as much as all that? And her hair is tumbled over her face as she buries her weary head in a pillow that is a poor substitute for his chest. She raises her eyes briefly to read, through tangled mats of hair, the words that are such a poor substitute for his. And his shirt reclines on a bed that is too small, too hard, to sleep on. His eyes closed in the apathy that he feigns so well. Opening momentarily to wonder where she is and who it is she’s with. So it seems that all life’s problems are the result of too much loving. And they wonder briefly how it would feel not to care about anything. How it would be to have never known the passion that courses through their souls. They dwell on the bliss of emotionless perfection. Wondering if there really is so much in living dangerously. And even though she remain imprisoned by her emotions she knows that she would trade it for nothing else. For to be trapped by him is, in spite of, or because of, all its implied misery, a joy comparable to no other. And he breathes in too deeply the absence of her love. Denying the importance that she brings has never seemed so pointless. For in the heat of her embrace, caught for a moment in her burning passion, he has never been so free. And they know that they are foredoomed. And in the embrace of each others arms they return to claim their right to be unhappy. They come together here daring to live dangerously. And here they will build their brave new world. 040923 ... once again Is indifference really the answer? Should we cease to care, would our problems all be solved? Are we living in a brave new world? Does nothing matter as much as all that? And her hair is tumbled over her face as she buries her weary head in a pillow that is a poor substitute for his chest. She raises her eyes briefly to read, through tangled mats of hair, the words that are such a poor substitute for his. And his shirt reclines on a bed that is too small, too hard, to sleep on. His eyes closed in the apathy that he feigns so well. Opening momentarily to wonder where she is and who it is she’s with. So it seems that all life’s problems are the result of too much loving. And they wonder briefly how it would feel not to care about anything. How it would be to have never known the passion that courses through their souls. They dwell on the bliss of emotionless perfection. Wondering if there really is so much in living dangerously. And even though she remains imprisoned by her emotions she knows that she would trade it for nothing else. For to be trapped by him is, in spite of, or because of, all its implied misery, a joy comparable to no other. And he breathes in too deeply the absence of her love. Denying the importance that she brings has never seemed so pointless. For in the heat of her embrace, caught for a moment in her burning passion, he has never been so free. And they know that they are foredoomed. And in the embrace of each other’s arms they return to claim their right to be unhappy. They come together here daring to live dangerously. And here they will build their brave new world. 041011 ... once again damn. i hate double posts. 041011 what's it to you? who go blather from