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Life Breathed Into Dead Project

The followup to: "If you want to get rich, stop being a fucking joker."

3:30AM.

Phone is ringing.

I'm not sure what to say if he answers.

Hmm.

The Race

On Tynan

There's a race going on, but it's not an ordinary marathon. First of all, it's not a mere twenty six point two miles long. We don't know how long it is because we can't see that far; no one has been to the end of the course yet. And, really, it's more of a relay race than a marathon. The entire history of mankind has been running it, passing the baton to future generations. And now the baton has been passed to us, and we're on the course.

Even though we're all entered into the race-- every single one of us-- not all of us are running. Some people are sitting on the side of the road. As you run by, you can see them, staring at the sky with a glazed over look, completely oblivious of the honor that has been passed down to them.

Other people are on the road, but they're walking. They're zigzagging all over the road, but going in the right direction. They'll never make it to the end of the road. Neither will anyone else, but the irony is that the walkers are the only group who DOES think that they'll make it to the end. They have no idea how long the road actually is, so they figure they've got all the time in the world. Walk a bit this way, walk a bit that way, sit down with the sitters for a few minutes, start walking again.

Along the road, also, are joggers. They're mostly running in packs. Whenever one of them starts to get ahead of the group, the rest of them yell at him and he slows down and rejoins the pack. The packs of joggers are like soldiers, plodding away as a big unit. They won't make it to the end either. They know it, but they've accepted it. Just keep jogging, stick with your pack, make it as far as you can.

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