Life beneath the waves is dead. Our pasts lie just beyond the reach of the sunlight's tendrils, half obscured by sand and grime, sealed away in the discarded footlockers of sunken ships, at depths to which no human may descend unaided, and to which even the soulless undine seldom venture.
But what is lost is best forgotten, and what is the past but an incomplete form of the present? All that was is contained in what is, and all that is is contained in what shall be.
So forget your sadness at the absence of the Trollpop over this past week. Let the dark clouds that have formed over your hearts melt away in the glorious sunshine that this blog now brings forth. Let mirth spring unrestrained from your lips in a glee unknown by the logical mind, remembering the infantile state before logic formed fully in your head, looking onwards to the senile state in which it will again be lost. What is life, but a brief moment of somber lucidity strapped between the ethereal years of bliss and dementia?
Laugh. Laugh until the blood drains from your face and all you can do is gasp for the breath further laughter demands. There is no happiness greater than that which exists in spite of all else. True bliss is not ignorance, but incomprehension.
"Life is a clusterfuck of conflicted interest."
- G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man