To write to a nondescript audience is to offer opinion as fact. No matter how curt of long winded the diatribe one issues forth, it coms from the single point of view of the experience of one concerning their interaction with the many. Consequently, the odds are never in one’s favor in terms of certainty. Oh, it is certain that our current age has bookkeepers of the souls whose self-appointed task is to forever add new names to what they can assuage as fact by consensus. But the nature of existential reality can only validate one lifetime per ceiling per night. Even in the midnight dialogues held with lifelong companions there is pause in the conversation where the quiet bestowed by night has its say. It is then that one naturally ponders the big questions of the overwhelming why and wherefore’s that are supposedly the governing engine of further existence. Though the body is wont to self-actuate by virtue of an inherent mechanism whose prime directive of inertial survival need not have answers for the next breath or bite. The indecipherable other half can so often lie in state as if in suspended animation or alternately create such havoc as to become a mortal rival of the entities’ ‘raison d’être’. The larger conglomerate organism of society may consider this a sign of malfunction but perhaps it is the truest form of individual personality that one has to offer. That unpredictability that like a genie can appear without appointment to inhabit every waking moment and then disappear with equal ferocity. Who can one trust, if one cannot have confidence in their own selves?