Fuck even coming close to perfection. Prefection (I screwed that spelling up. I got excited. I’m not going to correct it.) is something that your ego builds up. The funny thing about it? Your ego has nothing to do with you. It’s about how you are perceived. In a vacuum, there is no perfection, no need for an ego. In a vacuum, I would be able to create and be, without the pressure of the idea of people seeing my thoughts and judging the particulars. These particulars have nothing to do with the heart of the matter. Fuck my perfection. I choose creation outside of a vacuum.
I have spent much of my life in a stop and start manner. I get inspired. I start. I stop. Not good enough. Not close enough to the mark. This is to say I’ve bullshit myself into believing I was not good enough. It’s about the doubts that wouldn’t exist if there was no personal relativism. Fuck good enough.
Why start when it is absolutely impossible to achieve perfection? Because. That’s the best reason I can come up with. In the face of the fact that all your atoms will disperse and Death-eaters, like each and every one of us are, will take away everything we know and continue on without you, make something and share it.
The only end I know of is Death. Until then, go, create, love, be confused, thrash against the Unknown and leave something. Anything. Leave Love for the living. Don’t bless the brow of a guess at something eternal, something deemed perfect, with Love. Bless us Death-eaters with Love. We need it. It’s all we have. Other than Death.