The rubbishness of it all

Belief is a dangerous thing. Faith is fatal. And hope...If you remotely care for the existence of your skeletal apparatus containing several life supporting agencies (and life creating agencies as well) engulfed by a brown coating with hair growth sometimes an inch long; I would suggest a detour from faith and belief. Green says go. I say go. The other way, where they can’t find you and make you feel a hundred percent sure of something that never was and never will be. You will be safe only in a land far far away. You will not build castles in the air only to watch the wind blow, and see them collapse like Hiroshima did. Once, when someone believed that it was a good idea...
I haven’t lost. Yet.
The words of the Cynic scare me. They send me straight to the arms of my mother where I feel safe, from the world and the universe it is part of. I am afraid to believe in a day that is somewhere in the future where I will be happy, the forever imbalance in my life shall be brought to a peaceful equilibrium and the smell of sweet strawberries shall linger even after the party is over. I paint this image over and over again in my mind, in every minute miniscule part of it .Conscious. Subconscious. Unconscious. I am afraid because somewhere I know that belief will only result in sadness. I am a prevention is better than cure kind of person and I would much rather be sad now so I don’t know the difference later. And faith is when after a couple of alcoholic beverages you willingly blindfold yourself and walk into a crowded street. You will feel elated the first few times you come close to breathing your last quota of air. And then before you know it, the show is over...
I am the rope in the game played at family picnics and other gay occasions called tug of war. I oscillate back and forth, side to side between faith and belief and the absolute lack of it. If it were a matter of just one game that would decide the victor once and for all my life would be simpler for it. However, that is not the case and it is certainly not the case from seven hundred miles away. This is a game that repeats itself repeatedly causing a sick kind of torture beyond the imagination of even a prisoner of war.
Agree to disagree.
Disagree to agree.