Hedonism does not make you happy

Life ain't no breeze when your living on the fringe, challenging everything you see or hear or feel, picking it to bloody pieces, and asking the difficult questions. When you really truely try and figure out exactly how it is you feel and why and what's the point? It's the life of the outsider and it's the biggest head fuck of them all.

So you figure that the point of existence is to enjoy yourself, which is probably one of the more valid justifications, okay, cool, go have fun... And you do, but you can't stop that little voice in your head, can you? The one that keeps questing for truth and understanding and all that shit, the one that sees through the masqurade, the bullshit and artifice, even the bits you choose for yourself, won't let you be so you try and blot it out with alcohol and ecstasy and codiene and anything else you can get your theiving druggie hands on, and you find youself some fellow outsiders who have also embraced hedonism as their relgion of choice, and you put the world right over bottles of wine and the passage of a night, and you have yourself a blast but then you gotta come down again and all of painful existence comes crashing down on your sore head and your back where you started only now your brain won't stop throbbing, jarring, shifted 2 inches left, or maybe it's always been like that and you just never noticed, and everything is transparant again, see-through bullshit again and it hurts too much to think and be, but hey that's living right?