Mother always said the past was best left in the past. When I asked her the meaning of these unfortunate circumstances, she merely said that the people had simply got tired of waiting around for a saviour. If those words had rang as true and clear the fateful day they entered my ears as they do this day, perhaps this whole mess could have been avoided to begin with. I remember quite clearly one day long ago in my childhood when the man in black came home demanding to know the who, what, where, when and why of every last machination of our very beings. This confused me to no end. If the flashing lights and screaming sounds add up to nothing in your head, what makes you thinks you’ll find any more meaning and truth hiding under a rock? If the past has been any indicator, the cows will come home, the sun will set, and every last inhabitant of this tiny little world will turn a blind eye in shame. This incident with the man in black reminded me that I was so bent on testing god, on lying to his face, that I forgot just what the test was, and what it was that I was lying about. I still haven’t remembered. And I’m still looking. In the meantime, I turn my eyes to the sky and pray for rain. I pray for time to interfere. Home is home whether we like it or not. The past remains behind us and the future lies ahead, like twilight in the distance. And as I wander, I pray not for meaning, but for the wisdom to see that there is no meaning, that this is it. And it is beautiful. Because no matter how we struggle, truth and sanity are always the same distance from our hands.

Holding these truths to be self-evident, as judge, jury and executioner, we the people declare ourselves to be no more free than we imagine ourselves to be.
Looks like there’s a storm brewing
Sounds like no one cared enough to look twice
Seems like you tricked yourself again
It’s five o’ clock in the morning.
I’m done.