I’ve been told many tales and I’ve read many rhymes, but the most intriguing details are those that I’ve experienced with time. I’ve laid my head underneath the thundering stream of a waterfall. I’ve passed, with cringing stomach, a man curled around newspapers so carbon tight that diamonds may have formed—while I sheltered my hands in my fleece from the freezing cold. I’ve watched the sparkling ice dust tail of the Hale-Bopp comet in April’s weighted air. I’ve broken a woman’s heart, twice my age, by betraying my youth without a care.

Yet, these are but particles, a meteor to the entire universe. Still to be more—still to expand.

Expand until simplicity is cast into the shadows of specificity; whereas nothing, by nature, is wholly simple, but part of some emergent quality; born to life by the mingling of unaware complexes, bound by the fraternity of common elements—a base which spreads further than that of love, or even, life. Thus face value falls to the wayside and here drops millions of tiny tendrils, strings of uncertainty. I want to pull all that I can find—unravel the fabric and see what I can make of it with my mind.

So, I ask myself why and how—staring at the popcorn patterned ceiling, listening to the fan’s hum, as the window preaches an incandescent light. Never have I ended in conclusion, only in the finding of more tiny strings to pull upon. I have learned—infused in myself the ability to search out these points to unravel. My eyes have become attuned to slight wavers against the backdrop of time—with these searchlight eyes I feel as though I am expanding, as though I am steadily putting pressure upon a curtailed state of humanity, called indifference.

Against all of evolutionary time indifference has been triumphed; making us human by exacting our sharpened inclination to be intrigued, to search for novelty. Mother Earth’s streams still flow, clouds still migrate, tectonic plates still crawl, while the slight ripples of her water spread further apart as a ship’s bow becomes completely submerged. The lioness has no remorse as her throat fills with the blood of her fallen prey. The traveling geese do not question their god before departing for the winter. No longer are we fooled, no longer are we deafened by Mother’s sounds.

For we are a novel, but not necessarily advantaged, humanity, bread by an indifferent world.

This is to nudge a dim light onto what is to come: The story of a man, but none the less, the story of men. The system is too complex for an individual experience to belong solely to one individual—a beautiful aspect. A beautiful contact with those who you may never know.

Listen.

Let your eyes focus, without strain, on those tiny tendrils which hang from the empty sky. Pull them down, one by one. Destroy them to create what you will. To create with clear eyes. To create with purpose. To create life.