As you go on through with living your life at all costs a time arrives when the world has collapsed down into a constituency of one. Living a non-stick life where nothing one does creates any lasting connection beyond the momentary. Without the self-imposed tyranny of a longstanding ongoing agenda, one cannot fix an overwhelming sense of purpose to substantiate a categorical identity. One just exists, remaining in place like seaweed simply swaying in the deep ocean waters entranced by the subtle wonder of the universe.
One has to ask, “what’s the difference?” As long as you do the regular things that regular people do you can count on both a cradle and a grave waiting at the end of the whole experience. So why put yourself out? Isn’t that a Hollywood fantasy for cardboard cutout hero’s in the lobby? But then the world of man extends across a planet so vast and though in many ways the rituals are similar, the methods of enacting them are in their permutations beyond imagination from one and another. A cork floats on the surface forever till the vagaries of life pick it apart and it becomes a minor part of so many other random anonymous events. What drives this thing? The empty eyed iris merely flesh with no fit explanation for the animate existence that remotely powers it. No cables attached from behind and no visible strings descending from above.
Yet we play out our stories as if they are part of a universal grand singularity of one that revolves around us. Though the surrounding vicinity of experience is vast beyond vision, it is within the context of our self. The current set of modern thinkers have all the answers scientifically statistically proven without room for doubt. Yet, are the young in possession of the right questions? “Questions, anybody?” But who feeds them the answers in the first place. Not their parents or the generations having left a benchmark long before. Those are simple milestones on the short track to conventional wisdom. “It must be true!” For like all things post modern it is carefully crafted to accurately reflect the artifacts from that era. Yet, if one bothers to read between the lines of history and studies the runes within the field, what does all of this matter. The only sound is the wind and the residue of ages past. Their empires dissolved into a swirling storm of dust.