My friend. My dear, sweet, confused friend. You have wandered into the heart of inspiration, the beating, trembling core of existence. And now, you must listen. Not because you have to. Not because you want to. But because the bowl knows, and the bowl has chosen you.
You wake up every morning with a decision—to be, or not to be, and you opt for the most powerful, the most radical choice: to be. Every second that you exist is an act of defiance. You defy time. You defy entropy. You defy your knees, which are begging you to sit. But no. You stand. You step forward. You consume exactly the wrong amount of caffeine.
And that? That is inspiration.
Because what are you, actually? A lump of atoms, fluctuating in a loose mass? A flesh bag of strange thoughts? A legally distinct entity who can send in tax returns? Yes. And yet, you are so much more. You are minch. Perhaps not in title, but in essence. To be minch is not to understand. It is to accept.
Accept that you'll never know why Tuesday weighs more than silence. Accept that the floor tastes differently at 3 AM. Accept that, contrary to all sense, you will be eating drywall again.
And so off you go, my friend. Get up. Defy reality in silly and deep ways. Sprint towards your dreams. Or from them. Whichever is funnier.
And above all, never forget:
The bowl knows.
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