Good thing Life's an adventure for me. I discover it as I go. That should never change. We cannot know it all. That's the beauty of it. Yet these days I look around me and all I seem to see is a society hell bent on having predeterministically found that "having been found" or even finding anything at all is all that's possible in this deep chaotic realm charged with a powerful ordering of cosmic events—
behind, ahead and both within and beyond our control—
as seen through the pupils of all our ancestors that built our past, stone by piece, with blood and tears dancing in each of their eyes as if each one of them had somehow figured things out enough for themselves that they won't even stop to consider the possibility for even a moment that maybe they're wrong about their convictions. That's the thing about convictions, they're so overrated, aren't they? Not to mention, indispensably admirable. It begins to show why I face a great challenge. By inverting the lens of my perception on myself first and foremost, I will at least have been given the opportunity to assess whether or not I am as guilty as I occasionally charge those to whom I've momentarily convinced myself I don't belong—
but see, that's exactly the point (
from the beginning I have declared so)—
that we are all in this together, be it as an assembly of family or friends, subject to the wild mishmash of interpenetrating tribes of humanity flourishing over borders at an explosive evolutionary rate, or amid strangers in bars strewn all the way around the world, chatting it up with our dearest friends over cold foamy drinks—
and so once again I'm abruptly forced to acknowledge paradox as being the most recurrent variable when concentrating on the area one most honestly believes to be the "truth".
Our five senses are the tools we have been given by which to assess our environment directly and therefore be in a position to appropriately respond in matters which seem generally programmed to optimize the chances of our continued survival. These tools we were handed by means as of yet unknown—
to the general public and perhaps unbeknownst to anyone alive—
and have allowed us to fashion technological tools to the point we are around to come full circle in a revolutionary orbital synchronicity which reflects our own helplessness as a singular mass to resist the unfolding program already in execution while still casting a dim mote-swirled spot-lamp on those few individuals with senses sharp enough to abruptly realize possible wild random avenues of escape from this preconditioned singularity encroaching its labyrinthine walls upon us constantly. The trick seems to be knowing that those few individuals are in reality not of a continuously established set. In other words—
YES, few manage to break circuit enough to transcend key moments to assure further survival—
but that exact percentage itself moves through the remainder of humanity. One conclusion to arrive at would be to acknowledge without flinching and with every mote of purest honesty preserved intact that every single last human individual which ever existed and will ever come to exist have and will experience this roving rarest of beams homing in on them from time to time as circumstances demand we each need it. In further consequence, failure to have already arrived at this remarkable and inescapable conclusion points to the tip of the buried iceberg of problems concurrent with our idiosyncratic attempts at communicating with each other considering the likely faults, some minor and some quite extreme, which continue to plague us all in the various positive and negative ways it means to be human.
Do an apparative analysis
of the recurrence of certain
words in the text such as moon,
or dialysis, or ligature.
A pandemic cannot be erased,
remember that. Fresh squeezed
orange juice remains the best.
