The torment in longing for an end; of a bruised quest for elusive ever-slipping meanings. The shaky uncertainties of the self, serving its feast of promising doubts, to the common-comic silliness that is the fellow beings.
Those withdrawing from a large reality, to dwell in a peak of loneliness, spreading over, their loose imagination, immersed in a cold penetrating ache, outpouring peculiar words after another. Grabbing the hard questions by the throat, hazy questions; indistinguishable from the thoughts that birthed them.
There is growth to endure, the impact is endless and interwinding, the truth is iced in alienation, forgotten.
The sounds you hear, splashing with the waves of unconscious, will string you along a path of reflections, will you trust yourself to suck the fruits of their efforts?
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