People live their lives in ambition. To be known. To be great. To live the day-to-day in comfort. To pay the bill, the rent. To be with the girl sought after. Some ambitions are cruel. Blessed. Shallow. Or deep. They live their life in ambition knowing at ambition's inevitable end is death. It is hung over their head as a very much true, unavoidable ticking clock: the reminder to do what you can and do it now. So keep your arms outstretched. Live for the best that you can and make the most of this oh-so-glorious gift you've been given.
I
however
live this life with death at my feet.
It is my foundation and as such is my ultimate "ambition" - that return to the nothing from where I came. Where others live to see the next day, I break knowing I have awoken yet again. The futility of the day-to-day makes no man honorable - it sits him in the corner with a Dunce Cap. You can fuck all the greatest achievements medaled, remembered, worshipped, revered and blort it into the toilet as the never-child. Why? Because man's time is finite. At the end of the end of the end - nothing will be remembered. No one will be remembered for their fantastic ambitions.
No matter how far I reach
there is only death at my feet.
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