I keep thinking I'm the screenwriter and forgetting I am, in fact, the protagonist. Perhaps they are one in the same. Either way, I am reaping none of the benefits. All cost and no reward. Life has been one cleverly placed booby trap after another. One would assume that after being beguiled time and time again the bewilderment would fade, that I would point out the gun long beforehand and disregard its illustrious power and well-burnished allure, that I would be smart enough to avoid the bullet after I stumble upon the trigger. Or maybe I do see past the gun. Maybe all I see is a myriad of inescapable strings. Maybe - just maybe - I've been tripping on them with calculated sincerity the whole time. Maybe I enjoy the fall. After all, something is always there to catch me.
If action is premeditated by thought, and thought is premeditated by influence, then how can anyone truly be held accountable for their actions?