The road that was never built


Sooner than later one has to regret to expect, expect to regret. One cannot always appear to know that your prized possessions, your social connections, your career status, your authority, will allow oneself to find the sense of fulfillment necessary to be compelled to have the striving drive, the longing need, to know that around the bend, over the hill, at the end of the road, something new, something more exciting, something more mysterious, something more surreal lays ahead.

We are at a cross-roads, but we don't have a map, now that we are lost, we don't know where to go. We persecute the one that leads us down the road to finality, a quest conquered, after years of abnormality. We have longed since then, to set our souls free, to find a place of tranquility, yet we are around the frame of mind, to control, and not to console the blind. We want them all enslaved, because we are tired of seeing their faces, and hearing their voices, their screaming choices, on the roads we have paved. It was ours to create, it was ours to allow others to participate, but the land of Exodus, is now no more, than a concrete slab for the corporately defied whore of war. You'll see.

So the story goes, that there was a man, that knew no bounds, he came here first to do his rounds. He came to see, the love and beauty, he came to see the hate and the jeopardy. He came to prepare for the greatest war ever fought, he came to prepare for the greatest mind ever taught, he came to realize that it was all for naught, for he was 38 years up-caught.































Life itself is a picture-story, that has from behind the glazed common understanding based on societal values, something terrible amiss. We believe we need to have much, to be more, to be seen by many, to be someone, to be sociably connected, to be attractive, to be considered.

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