Destination Unknown

Ah, Yester, I knew him well. Tween worlds, indeed, in this one or that, I know not, for what matters, which is which, one never knows. This dream dreamt by so many, I count myself amongst commoners, such is this state we all share, a reality false to our sense of justice, this solid evidence of lives lived for reasons beyond us, grasping for reason, a mere pittance paid to our yearnings, our desires unfed, tasteless, barely palatable, yet we gorge ourselves upon it all, such that it is.

I listen to this, myself, my ramblings that lead down primrose paths to nowhere, yet I seek destination, be that destiny or some ending of my own choosing, and I ask the question upon all our tongues, the big one dare not asked and never answered, yet I shall answer, for I am so daring today, would ye not agree, to suggest to challenge the omnipotent, the reaper, the writer of the rules, and suggest he be mere figment in the minds of people I despise. Oh, I do not hate them, for they are not worthy of my rage, my despair, my certainty that it all amounts to naught, a knowledge so set in stone and testing of my faith I beg of just one to prove me wrong, for when I am right, I may know validation, and in such I am doomed.

You tire, your patience wears thin, you give me such short time to make my case, for clarity is what thou seek, something you can use, something your mind wraps about comfortably, and demand I reach some conclusion, some point to all this font that seems to reproduce itself like some irritant virus, infecting that which is worthy of your time and threatens to kill it altogether and I say to you, no, I demand of you to see this through to an end I can only promise poses questions rather than answers, for I know, if anyone does, that answers are ethereal, poppycock to some, gospel to others, and when shalt such the twain meet?

Then fine, I grant you your grand finally, the curve upon the road, which coming upon, you kept the wheel straight and true and left this line of arguable reasoning. There be method in this madness, and should it take thee a lifetime of reading and rereading it is revealed in all good time. I called upon my muse and he/she/it delivered, not wrapped neatly in marketable fashion nor guided by polls, for opinion is of little value on trips to such places as this. I did not drag you kicking and screaming to this last sentence, thus your angst is of small measure as I bid thee goodnight, merry met, and merry meet again.

Madness has no copyright............