The Quismet Report

A Reflection on Purpose, Solitude, and Distraction There comes a time when every person must choose between discipline and distraction, between solitude and connection, between emotion and focus, a war within. In a world that constantly demands our attention, we must ask ourselves, is love a force that strengthens us, or is it merely a beautiful distraction? For years, my narrative was built on books, hip-hop, and my own writings. Tools that helped me make sense of my pain and turned my struggles into something understandable, something bearable. Fatherhood gave me purpose, and prayer fueled that purpose. But then love came, and suddenly, everything changed. At first, I saw love as an interruption to the disciplined life I had built. It was pleasurable, but it also dismantled the solitude that had kept me sharp. I was always fine when I stayed lonely. But was I truly fine, or was I just comfortable? This dilemma is not mine alone, it is universal. How much space should love occupy in a...

We keep trying, as though hope endures, Yet the truth is cold, and love ensures. A spark that fades, a fleeting fight, tolerance steps in to dim the light. What once burned bright turns hollow, gray. An endless cycle we replay. Each soul, a wanderer, chasing bliss, yet all it leads to is the abyss. For I have seen, and I have known. The seeds of love, once brightly sown, bear fruits of pain, of silent decay, until the dream dissolves away.  The greats...Nietzsche, Einstein, Shakespeare... chose solitude, their path made clear. No time for folly, no space for ties, their minds soared free beneath the skies. So I stand, conviction pure, detached, resigned, and yet secure. Not bitter, not broken...just deeply aware of love’s illusions, the traps they ensnare. If you call this cynicism's art, then let it speak, for it’s my heart. For in this truth, I’ve found my peace. A quiet strength, a sweet release.

Fine people snoring, resting, at peace, What did they do to deserve release? I'm here, eyes wide ...rabbit in lights, thinking, hoping, lost in the night. The pastor preached of love’s embrace, saying its a sword for cutting through evil’s face. Yet love has left me torn and bare, Like hugging thorns, no point, no dare. I chase the dream of quiet mind, Work and toil, yet peace won’t find. Life’s a puzzle, cruel and vast, A sermon preached to minds held fast. Hearts weighed down by pain and vice, Burdened souls who roll the dice. Cynicism, a safer bed, Than love that leaves us left for dead. Still, something in me keeps its spark, a flicker burning in the dark. Is it hope, or just the need, a want for pussy  For hands that soothe, for love to feed? Do I care if I rise or fall? If love is mine, or none at all? The honest truth is I do not know I let it play, I let it flow. For in the end, if fate stands still, then what is choice?...Arthur said it...no free will.