I don't know if it's true or not, but my 'thoughts' or 'life' seem pointless if I cannot find one permanent thing. Maybe that "one thing" is the eternal nature of transience? Truth is a loaded word. One of my favorite sentences in existence is the KDworld.net tagline: "It's like the truth, only real."
Does it make any sense to strip my thought of conceit? My soul of guise? Am I just fooling myself anyway by writing… by questing? Am I nothing but a poor, timid attempt at Don Quixote, protected by the faux-shield of a computer? Would I do better to throw down this enabling cyber-armor and take up this discourse in the streets?
Being the Neo-Frivolist that I learned I am in writing, I wish to invite anyone to experience this as portal into a somewhat unrelatable consciousness as it looks out onto many things. This "consciousness" fears it will never be shared, seen, or remotely understood, but cannot bear the thought of not trying. This will not be a 'story' in the way we have come to think of them, but a glance into the -dare I say soul- of an entity that begs to be exposed.
