The melancholy ventricle remains brave despite living in the shadow of the nearby healthy void. A tumultuous and perpetual slamdance occurs against the tides of lifeblood that fuel the limbs of the meat slab through the endless kaleidoscope of crushing uncertainties and the stinging tease of knowledge. Duck and hide in vain on the path of the unscathed for the journey’s perils consume all with fiery demise or a vapid erasure so discreet the being remains only theoretical in nature. This parade is grand when viewed from the inside yet admits no one to witness its splendor. We are as holy as we decide ourselves to be and better than the wretched liars whose inconveniently shaped moral truths pierce the fabric of our beloved entrapments. Words get hurled down from generation to generation and become packaged neatly into complete paradigms that pollute the potential of an otherwise unstoppable novel creature. When the box is large the surrounding fear will crush its walls. The struggle to forage into the void to pick the undiscovered flower and return with its petals intact is a nearing impossible endeavour rarely seen without an immediate thrashing against its beauty to prevent any hope of sustained new life in the desert of progress. We can’t know that which drives the gears or decays the flesh, yet the compulsion to move through this terrifying landscape is that which saves us from damnation. We shall seek for seeking sake alone or destroy the universe with our one true choice.