I didn't know where else to post this little story, but I've always liked this sub, and I wanted to post it somewhere, so here goes:

"In my first life, over ten thousand years ago, I was a rioter. Fully indulgent, I was totally subsumed by the world. I cared for fame, fortune, and all that. I took life by the horns, but I went too far, and without self control, or conscious reflection on the bigger picture, the fun that defines the world is lost. I lost track of what it was all about, even though the first truth was still in my mind. Anger filled the world, and following my death in old age, there came horrors beyond my comprehension. Civilization became a festering cesspit of baseness and misery. This was so not me. Not even great disasters, cataclysms, could fully wash the world of the filth. By the time my next life came around, less than 2,000 years before the present, I settled on ascetic and moralizer; a reactionary, I was. While I was fully aware of the truth now, I became preoccupied by it. By my words, I wanted to extinguish the lies of the world, and the suffering upon it. Saying the truth in such a fallen world got me killed, but my message, infused with a naive preoccupation with a sort of utilitarian kindness, lived on. My followers, in time, vanquished my murderers, and for a while, the world looked up, until it didn't. Their descendants built a wannabe utopia that was so boring to live in, with the fun of life lost once more, that many of my own people were more than willing to, in the end, welcome demonic figures as liberators. Once again, I had failed, and before my third life, in the present day, a beast system, even worse than the crude mockery of civilization that was the late antediluvian, arose to challenge me, in my new iteration. Here, in this life, I went through a microcosm of the previous two, Wiemar in figure, playing to win, was followed by Nazi in figure, not playing at all, and I shivered in the winter that surrounded me. But it was that winter, combined with much reflection of my journey, both micro and macro, that led me to finally discover the second truth, which is how to really live—play for the sake of playing. By the time I had, I guess you could say, I had fully learned my lesson. Only then, did the fun, life, as it's meant to be, return in full. By then, my story was no longer so much The Fool's Journey, as it was The Artist's Journey and The Journey of the Craftsman; I had won the world."

That is to say—at first I said "life is a game, so let's play to win". It was a disaster. Then, recoiling from the disaster, I said, "the creator is within us all, so forget playing, let's just be nice to one another". It was a disaster. Finally, I said "life is art, so make it your own". Before I even said it, I had already won. Looking back, the damage of the first approach to The World, the stage in which I, your old Fool and humble narrator, still walk after all these aeons, was a real horrorshow. But that was child's play compared to the second approach. By the second, and those clowns who dare mock me, along with the dogs who run amock and bark, even the vitality of man was sapped. At least the first was about unapologetically living. Not so for the second. I was reminded of my foolishness every day when I saw that dastardly book supposedly inspired by me, and my shenanigans back when I, bummed out with the horrorshow, spoke of peace and love. Here in this life, I revisited it all, stages and phases in sequence. It had to happen, and I'm happy it did, because it got me to where I am today—a fully trained Artist and Craftsman, who can finally do proud the creator, and fulfill my reason for being here in the first place. My true trade is simple. I'm not a world conqueror in grand strategy, nor some wandering monk who hates life itself, no no; I make dreams worth dreaming, plays worth watching, and lives worth living. Who do I serve? Not only the creator within us, but also you, dear reader, another beautiful aspect of creation just like me; creation, which my respect for is boundless. And here I am, dear reader, fun and summery once more, but a bit less foolish for wear.

"So, I found myself watching a bit of Footloose, and listening to a bit of Burzum, after I recounted playing with a few toy soldiers, and smirked at some of those wild-eyed sermons I once gave. I couldn't judge Varg at all, as silly as he is. He only knew me as a pompous hippie, and that wasn't really me, now was it, dear reader? Oh I was cured, old friend, I was cured. Now, I guess, we can dance if we want to; nobody gets hurt, I can tell you that—maybe today's disaffected killjoys will even join us some day. It's an open invitation."

I don't think I'll read the replies. Just wanted to put it out there. Hope you enjoyed it.