meaning of life

a question, i can answer, only for myself

It is conversations, discussions, to talk with a friend, argue with foes. To have conversations about : what is good; what is beautiful; what is noble; what is love; and what is true. These are the conversations worth having, taking place in a succession of rooms. Rooms filled with strange souls, stranger to our own, and maybe not so much after.

These conversations and the irony surrounding them and our life, in Dear Hitchen’s words, is the gin and the Campari, cream and the coffee, jazz in the blues and the rhythm in the beats.

They are worth living for, and maybe dying too. Not in the false hope of what might come after, but because without these, the coffee’s too black, and all dull rhythms and no beat. For such a living, why would I breathe?