Gas Station Ramblings (circa winter 07)

Is there a beginning to us? Should there be? Where is the end of what we are? How does this existence extend our awareness to degrees of which our physical selves are unable(unwilling?)to follow. What is it that makes some need to believe in more than conductive sacks of meat, yet does not allow them to actually believe and take comfort in that selfsame needs ideals? Why do I hurt more, the more I feel? Why does it take happiness for me to feel my pain, for without the happiness, my pain fades into the gray of solitude, which while not happy, is not painful. Mere existence is infringing upon my mortality, I must begin to de-exist or I will de-exist. Flight of macabre fancy have gripped themselves upon my cortex an are causing the descent of my equilibrium. How does one find their counter-agent? What good is it to find a soulmate if they don't agree?