Belief is a distinctly human trait, and built on human rationality. Somewhere between Donald Davidson and Jane Goodale, life happens.

Stinky, barbaric, chaotic life. The kind that numbs the brain like sitting hunched over staring at your black keyboard with no words that can capture the moment of nothing. The kind of nothing that could not go by any other name and could never be understood by anybody who never spent time torn down by strong anti-depressants, or at least sunken into the abyss of a serious depression.

Numb nothingness.

The kind of numbness crafted from a lack of love, or love torn off your back like an old, bloody and pale band-aid only to reveal an infected wound that blasts pain to the limits of your being. Cures are for quitters and only the truth-seekers – and admittedly those with a hint of masochisism – can absorb the experience of a world crashing down around their waxy ears.

We build the foundations of our lives on nothing. Beliefs are pulled together as patchwork abominations, scary and aggressive, but even more transitory than new years resolutions and sports rosters. Beliefs are often built on prejudice, half-baked ideas and tunnel-vision perspectives, yet taken as transcedental truth.

We live there, We all live there. No wonder people are not good to each other.

A person is a collection of actions, statements and rumours. If there’s an intelligent design, humans were thrown together as an example of what happens when the boundaries of dysfunction and chaos anally rape order and justice.

We can ive nowhere else, and we can never walk away from ourselves. No bullet could remove us, and no chemical lobotomy or hallucigenic drug could propel us out of being stuck here. We are right here, staring at an off-white wall where nothing but screams, crying and the howls of madness reach our ears.

Shut up and listen. You can hear it too. Madness, distant but coming on like a train. It claims every brilliant mind it did not birth.