This is my first post. My first attempt to vent the tumultuous anger inside me, as I, along with all of you, am being hurled towards the inevitable unknown that is death. Travelling at the speed of time we blindly crawl around this spherical tomb, seeking various forms of pleasure to distract our little minds from wandering down the dark path of questioning life. And don't for a second think that I exclude myself from this company. We're all here, we're all lost, we're all sick, and we're all drowning in that which is, for the most part, unanswerable. Hence I, like many others, let myself fall limp into the lukewarm hands of faith. A faith which will never give me the satisfaction I desire. Some would label it a pessimistic approach to Christianity, some would probably call it optimistic agnosticism. Although I struggle to comprehend how faith is anything except a term to describe the act of blindly packaging up all of life's unknown questions into a nice little box and then claiming that the box itself is the answer. How can not knowing the answers really be the answer? And so the friction from this relentless cycle of questions ignites the emptiness inside of me once more. It burns cold in the dark abyss that is my soul. I find it hard to imagine that I am alone so I pose to you a question. Think of the one thing in this world that you love the most, and ask yourself this: If you found out for certain that this thing was just part of your imagination, how long would it take you to realise that it's real?