on thinking

there is a moonshine figurine in the glass athenaeum. glitter jars sluicing, oh! the war-break of banter, anger and temperament. in the alcove of a romantic cycle, from a mono-beam to a crazy duality, to the silence of poetry, conditionality and expressionism. it is to live in an existential numbness. a constant fear -what happens next? will they remember? punctuated with why should they remember? this passion for remembrance, to prove a capable culpability is sown into a cultural behemoth. to give in a plenitude, we talk of a community needing relief from a starvation. a salvation, this gift of human integrity. to do, to be done, to benefit and cherish a concrete, worthwhile purpose. this is the asymmetry of science -a case for prettiness, explanation of reasoning. why do we imagine nature has a purpose? not a waylay contradiction of a stalled existence. to say, the flower for the vector, the lung for breath, the nostrils for enigma, the nails for deadliness, to have the for. what for? why does nature have a purported progression in an unpredictable dimension? if all things in nature have a purpose, and man is a component of nature, then it follows that man has a purpose. if all things explain an existence, man provides an explanation. and saddled in a rift of existentialism, why does man exist? to serve a purpose of continuing nature. does every man has equal purpose? we argue against that. but why doesn't every man have equal purpose?

to surround oneself with question and answer, to define oneself in the gridlock of time and space, in a vacuum of the abstract, in an understanding of reason, in the catechism of logic, infoldings of the impractical integrals, man has defined a purpose for himself. and the purpose, self-defined, has wavered and floundered and orbited in a giant hyperbole. in alternate realities of the macrocosm and the microcosm. at the cost of a marginal cosmos, man has doubted, blinded and allured a maverick explanation. a perspective of sinusoids, waves, crests, troughs and effortless imbalance in the core culture. this is the name of a creative cult, to cherish a lost translation, to give up in discord. to think myself, to do and to go ahead. leap in wonderment of a self-defining purpose, to be in concert with the elements of my senses, to be in collusion with the practicality of my fear, to be in a collective, a credibility, islands away from my existential numbness. to define directionality of my life compass, and traverse the pathway to my fulfillment, is my wishfulness and my meaning.