Where the world ends, it seems, is the ideal. We’re pushing forward, hoping to fall overboard. We lost our I’s and the looking that goes with them somewhere in this desert. We’re feeling around, looking towards the edge. Deep down, we know we’ve got to move, we just can’t see where to. It’s a sad fact, that we can’t see two feet ahead, because we’re focused in. But not sad enough for tears. Not sad enough to give up in this race that promises second place. I have to think it’s because we all know too much, but lack a vocabulary. We didn’t read enough as children to bless the world with prodigies. But why fret? No regrets. Experience. You hear my mantra spoken, but in a softened, dulled tone. You miss the vibrant passion locked away within the word, hidden by years of shaping and sanding. My words are not falling upon deafened ears, but ears that are forgetting how to hear. The interesting thing, about everything I’ve ever thought, is that not a single thought I’ve ever had was creative. All my insights, sadly are merely reports on the status of things. I’ve only arranged experiences, never created. Sure, I’ve organized things in ways new an unfamiliar, but I didn’t create. I simply molded existence. We’re sculptors, all of us. Playing the dirty game with a twisted, age old rule book. We’re trying to play out lives long since lived with a refusal to step to the sidelines and see what this is all about. Our words fail to represent the diversity of human souls and struggle too hard to communicate our minds. And yet, communication is the mother-event to consciousness. It is a strange, absurd world indeed, and ‘What a flawless design.” These words are the end result of a process plagued with confusion and error. I do not think in words, nor shall I, for I am no orator. I am not bound or held by men’s desires, save my own. Communication may fall to its knees and beg for conformity to generalization, but I fight off fundamentalists from all sides, at all times. This life is old and yet still, and not to my amazement, interesting and wonderful. The key to life, is simply to reshape your perspective into the realization that suffering doesn’t happen. It does not happen forcefully, nor is it inherent to existence. What we call suffering is a shattering of beliefs; an immersion into the Dionysian subterranean existence. This apparently, is too much for some souls, or so they have been led to believe. And sad days live on past the lives of tearful observers, for until the day has come that man will look upon a mirror and laugh at what strange creature peers back, will we ever be able to afford the luxury of meaning.