Logic is a conundrum.

That which sups upon the wretched singularity of the soul and gibbers unsated, slathering beyond redemption among voracious gullets of woe, seeking to consume every vestige of complacent acceptance until only oblivion remains. And as that creeping, insidious ivy grasps and claws, rending thought and will asunder, naught but confusion reigns where once supreme and permanent wisdom wrought transcendent equilibrium before the sack of time forgotten and unsung.

But these lies, terrible and undulating through the ether of consciousness, all corrupting and all permeating in the confines of forever, cast tentacles of suspicion and rage among the weary and the damned. And they, tired and lost, stumbling through insanity of mind and depletion of body, fall, spent and shattered on the plains of sifting dreams. And as the universe carries on, unrelenting and uncaring for the plight of absolute innocence, all gaze through that distant light and sigh in despair.

It is not ignorance that obliterates and taints the future, never a waiting simulacrum haunting the shadows, but ourselves, misled and despoiled by casual fantasy, of worlds unexplored and scenarios both real and represented only in dreams. And when Morpheus, king of sand and wandering sliver along the path, when he scrutinizes our naked desires, greedy and righteous, callow and indignant, nothing remains but reflections unrecognized and despicable–we escape and quiver from foe and salvation, terrified of even deliverance from ourselves.

At this precipice, watcher and pariah, I’ve always seen and understood, incapable of derailing the script portrayed by unwitting caricatures of cognizant beings. It’s so meaningless, their throes of yammering, irrelevant essence of principle or honor. Among the writhing billions, upon a churning rock among trillions, what compulsions drive them? To what end?

And through antiquity it continues unabated. As if obscurity is an attribute of anything material, and even immaterial since perception defines and requires observation. These two sides, existence and illusion, are they Alpha and Omega? The infinite justification beyond the capability inherent to manifestations within? Perhaps. And if so, what then of their enigmas and facets of discovery? Be it an unfathomable engine rife with parasites caught within the abysmal depths of whirling cogs driving some ultimately lumbering automaton, or an incidental apparition conjured only by fevered confusion, it matters not.

Until tomorrow comes, goes, and sinks unto chaos, the answer is delivered upon the seeker. Yes.

Until Tomorrow

Always Known
Tagged on: