Caught Prose piece - Something I wrote in the late 1990's

Threads of life pull at my veins, yet I manage to smile.  Is it happiness?  Do I ride the wave of life in its caressing flows, or do I crash at a reef beyond the tide, that extends for eternity?  As I am victimized by my uncontrollable sucking of air, I find myself asking, why?  Why do all these questions of life attack my mind with a spiteful smile?  Why can't I watch a football game, talk of memories, or drink a beer without asking, "where is it all leading to and why?"  I found that "why" is the most difficult question to answer, not, is there a God, or for that matter, where does the universe end?  No, just one question, "why".  Am I an idiot for asking "why", rather than calculating a mathematical problem to its infinite square?  As the world spins and ellipses around the sun, three-hundred and sixty five times in one year, while the naughty moon hovers exposed, naked before us, I ask "why"?  As I ask, I find that I am spinning rapidly, dizzying with every rotation, space warping a world in three dimensions while energy tears through us, vibrating erratically, spread between us, before us, I am caught.  Caught in a web of technology, where I am taught how to drink, dress, shit, and tie my shoes.  I'm tired.