Contentment is like a perfected abyss of gratitude yet contentment that lasts for longer than 3 hours in the same temperature will inevitably wither into scraps of coal. Bits of coal, I say,
because one soon forgets the comfort of the fire in which the coals provided in the beginning
and is ridiculed by the smoke and smothering temperature once the flame becomes mere temperature. Contentment is also a temperate function.
Still, I beg the heavens not to allow my sense of gratitude to dwindle to nil.
But a heinous crime! Yes, nothing but a horrific crime it is to forget the road you have paved up until the moment of possible permanence in such a fleeting emotion as contentment shows its face.
What is it,... is it a deprivation of appreciation for monochromatic bliss? Now this question is going to do nothing but pack a thick-as-heavy-cream syringe of questions. What good is this syringe going to do for anything? Maybe a cup of dark coffee for a drinker who doesn't like it the way he likes his women; black.
I doubt you or I would want to deal with that syringe. So, let's just toss it right here on this shiny, wet pavement. At least it is not oozing blood. It is just heavy cream. When ingested, minor nausea is the worst ailment for a non-allergic consumer.
Anyway, the point is...
Contentment easily makes a person sleepy. Ecstasy is after all not a form of contentment.
Oh, the lessons I learn.