Lewis Hamilton - The McLaren Years

Re-uploaded with insertion of the correct lines at 3:33. Though Hamilton's time with McLaren has long since been obscured beneath the waves of his ongoing success under the frankly absurdly dominant Mercedes program in the V6 hybrid era, I've gone to the effort of unearthing the finer details of his past endeavours behind the wheel of various chrome-liveried vodafone-plastered slabs of intricately moulded carbon fibre, and all for the viewing pleasure of you, whoever you may be, and whatever catastrophic events have befallen you such that you can't do any better than to find yourself here. A terrible error hath I made, in that, despite all the evidence of past incidents suggesting its being terribly inadvisable, I today allowed myself the slightest of indulgences, in the belief that I might find myself capable of suitably balancing my worser vices with the underlying will to self-destruct that lurks behind my every action, and for which reason I'm mildly amazed at my surviving each passing week. It so happens that I was wrong, miserably, hopelessly wrong in believing that change could have been wrought, and now I duly suffer for my naivety, piecing together this video in the hopes of its curtailing my descent into the grip of an all-enveloping vacuum of misery and woe. How could I have been so foolish as to believe that I could be happy? that I could live as I did when younger? that, in lowering my guard for the briefest of moments, the voices of old would not return to strike me with redoubled force? There are no methods of evading what cannot be erased, and neither is it as though becoming a monk would provide a solution. I explored that avenue, and duly found that no man can escape the indelicacies of his essential nature, however vehemently he may claim to renounce worldly desires. Nor am I capable of excising my soul in order to align my aesthetic with that of others, looking to any means necessary, however illogical, to detach myself from oppressive obligations which bring little in the way of subjective pleasure. No, the truth is that I look to exist under the sway of only one mode of ethereal being, to be accessed by the sole means of a reduction of the bodily mass to that which is wraithlike in its slightness. I now resign myself to the belief that my life shall almost certainly come to an end due to my body's being unable to endure to tortures undergone in search of perfect lightness. This specificity was unthinking of me. I move too far from vague abstractions for these confessions to be relatable, spare for those who share in precisely my form of unperceived entrapment, deviating from the golden rule of being so imprecise and loose in my designations as to convey a universally recognised pain. For the coming weekend I'll again take flight to (semi-)distant lands, though this shouldn't be an impediment to my continuing to post, particularly if Williams choose to announce their second driver during those days, for which I've preemptively conceptualised a short, crude comedy video that will almost certainly bring a slight reduction in my subscriber count if consummated. The Greeks claimed that a woman should spend no more than one month in grieving, and so it is that I restore my former numerical designation for this channel, having paid my respects to Massa, whose consistently unimpressive performances, enabling him to scrape by year-on-year with continual contract renewals, endeared him ever so slightly to my person. Ciao, Felipe, and hello, Sergey. There's no use in being weighed down by memories of what has gone before, unless it concerns Lewis Hamilton between the years of 2007-2012. I can't linger, as I have a personal obsession which must be seen to.