Tis only at night, through lonely strands, that the call arises.
Those wanton sands of shifting times beckoning you to ponder all that could be thine.
Neither death nor life nor weight nor vice cause its arrival, although they may gently tug at the hearts drawstrings.
It is in this place where the Zeitgeist of the age resides.
The not so gentle being that causes fertile to become fallow.
It is where hope mustn't spring, never eternal. Existentialism 's dangerous affair with the very base of your reality. Forgotten loves, lost sayings of hearts never to be, which never were yours.
It is the place where two paths in a wood diverge only to lead to the same destination.
Dangerous roads laden with stones, ready to unseat the tired foot.

Oh, the missteps caused by placing the most sanguine expectations upon fluctuating ashes. The year turns its page and the waft of air caused by its passing draws upon a new spirit of the age. Its arrival agents chaos, but only in theory, upon all that is genuine in existence. It is here that, as Edward Lorenz once said, the present determines the future, but the relative present does not relatively determine the future.

For to build upon the shifting sands of time, will surly cause grievous loss upon grievous loss.

Matthew 7:26-27
6/6/2013 09:42:44

Stunningly attractive and intelligent :)


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