Viewpoint

Below the omniscient views of the land lies an underworld waiting to be discovered. Choose to stay with what is known or dare to dig further towards a new enlightenment. It's time to cross the Rubicon and watch the stars eloquently dance. Let chaos lead us to an even greater understanding of our universe.

Detached and secluded, warm beginnings await, without promise or firm dictation we lose what we know, hence the inevitable chronological point of cessation and demise. While it stares at us, we see it's withered ends and cold shoulders, and we run.

Fashion an apparatus capable of pleasant destruction. One that yields the burning desire for knowledge; and which wields the constraints of time and existence. Ready a vulgar message to those who in surge with frantic contrivance. Render a steady aim towards exculpation but invite only the most potent sapper; entrust and transfuse such notions of instruction. Burdened by discipline and diluted from infestation, spawn aristocratic institutions to serve apprehension. Articulate abecedarian fundamentals of discipline and honor. Unveil the gratuity, cloaked by our civilization, to the kinsmen of Arcadia. Seek the wisdom, hereditary in its nature, yielding the plight of essence within consciousness among established constituents.

Engulfed in such a whirlwind of despite, displeasure, and dominance, I seek, gasping for breath; entangled upon a lifeless void where frail lungs collapse within, several goad intentions expire. This place, null and overcompensated, reeks of saturation and imminent hue; a placid canopy has spewed amidst it's convulsions of lunacy and lackluster proportions. Fist clenched, hips aligned, aim poised. Steady and calm, with target in sight, I can feel the presence of darkness and destruction; it is within yet surrounds and entangles me. Explicitly intimate and surreal. Although somewhat foreign at first, conformity gradually sets in; it breaches itself ever so gracefully into the memories of my past. A comfortable numb, such a novice and futile connotation. Its essence is dull and gray. Strangely opposed, I am satisfied and content, ready for action.


We have our degrees of certain entertainment and contentment, but nevertheless, we all seek a common sanctuary. One that lies subtle in its longevity, with its dreary weather struck faces, beaten and tried by the brutal rays of nature and time. The sanction of nobility, gratuity, and humbleness swells within, our intentions set, engaged, we long for the compensation of recognition, while coercively nurturing our desires to explore, conquer, and obtain. We are our most sinister fears and our perfect guardians, combined and unrestricted. I can almost forget what it feels like for a moment, my leaden soul, calloused over by the trials of time; it has become evident to me that its fluid appendages have become stone hard, bruised with attention and abandonment. In this final hour of judgment I become alive, unrestricted, and uncontainable in such solemn nature.