On a wing and a prayer...

God's Own Country... TRESSPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

It is what alcoholics call 'Moment of Clarity'.
-Jules Winnfield (Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction)

The inevitable disillusionment with the charades of facile ambiguity has finally sunk in. The predicament is too intractable to be resurrected by sporadic intervention. I have not done enough but then I am a man of limited reserves. With my constrained art and expression it is impossible to converse with the normative super rationality of today's milieu.

The dialectic of my sputters too is confused, incoherent and indefensible while the succinct reality that immersed my hubris, still rests – true, calm, incontrovertible...crystal. I ventured into the recesses of its semantics, floundering for life, grasping for air and even as my cadaver resurfaced the reality still rests – true, calm, incontrovertible...crystal. My exertions have not even caused a ripple and I have ended up as flotsam. Life relents once you concede. I should have accepted this vegetative state and avoided the embarrassment of dissonance.