There is a treatise of beguiling disgust which we attend daily, give praise and oratory remarks, and seldom complain about. One could only aspire to such grandeur in a life's tenure over the apocalyptic take-over that is -to some-this life's reincarnation over this decrepit monolith that carries us about like workers a wheelbarrow... to ensure the grand finale of this daily spectacle it is paramount to know the one whose monologue empowers the desires to return after every engagement. If I were to attempt to achieve anything through mere contemplation the task would become ever-so-incredibly daunting due to our innate ability to survive. It is not about not having fun anymore, it is about understanding the measures in which fun can be had with more ease due to experience rather than the mere platitudes of jumping into the fray and behind one's own buffoon. Without court and yet with a grand stage the jester in our lives with freedoms failed taunts the muse of those whom in complete disregard merely wish to explore the darkness of the unknown that no longer hides a thing from us. This leads to the repetitive nature of humanity, the inability to truly comprehend advancement, and ultimately helps us realize our fear of our dreams becoming a reality; we spend so much effort in trying to convince when listening takes less time and often is more peaceful and calming.
A place to contemplate beyond that which is desired, warranted, wished upon, and sometimes forgotten.
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