Who doubts what he's sure of

I want to want, I'm a fatalistic death pursuit to that that is absolute. Shades and grays are the stuff poetry's made of, this life needs a stark contrast of black and white, blacker than black, whiter than white. When there's no wiggle room for qualifiers; maybe, possibly, kinda, sorta. I want YES, NO, GOOD, BAD. I think about a wonderful life when certain ideas and activities are bereft of any semblance of nuance, where it's simple. Of course, this breeds a line of thinking that has us sucking down chicken soup through IVs as pod people. Of course nuance is good, of course we need things to be complicated. But sometimes, some nights, some relationships, some people, some nights, I want to take a gun to nuance and off it execution style and dance on its grave. I want to live in the world where I can do something and not worry about the consequence, with a whole-hearted knowledge that it's what right, it's what's good, it's what's pure. Not often enough, not nearly enough do these fragments of life occur. I'll rejoice upon the day when the spirit that wakes up in the morning and the one that goes to sleep at night are one in the same.