Oh what is this life of ours that we cling to it so dearly? It isn't heroic, for all of the heroes exist only in myth and legend. We have dispelled all myths, and we no longer have any use for legend (apart from its use as a marketing ploy). Our life is a curse, and with our existence we curse the ground upon which we walk for a few brief moments, a few brief moments. All we have is a moment in time, a moment never realized, for it slips ever away from us into that future we shall never see; slips as a razor slips across the wet and melting ice. How shall we live in such a state? Pleasure is fleeting, and it hurts the weak who surround us, and ultimately the self. Righteousness is vain, and slips too often into bloodshed and dogmatic intolerance. A measured cosmopolitanism is no safe haven, for it has no roots to weather the storms rising up out of the depths of the human psyche, and will slip, inevitably into the nihilistic violence of past ages. What is left? There is no answer to this question, no truthful answer. Let us not give up on those symbols which have led mankind in the past. For a man who is brutally honest with himself concerning this earthly reality, there is no good solution to the puzzle of life and human existence.