so, here we go. In the mid-nineteenth century there was a boy of intense knowledge. It sounds ridiculous to call a boy 'intense knowledge' but, this is the best way to describe him. He wasn't anything special, besides the fact that he was pure knowledge. Despite this pure knowledge, he was an increasingly dull and idiotic man. Wisdom caught the fairy home many years ago, leaving him to tremble on the shore. ha. Silly boy. The boy loved though. Which was ridiculous. He had nothing to love, yet he insisted that he loved. Even the vagrants would throw their pity at him and he would scream, "but, I love!" and he did. He did with all his heart. As much as a heart is a throbbing mess of blood and tissue, and is in no way something that you would want to see all of anyway... but he did it with all of it. And then he died. Not badly. He died because of that very same heart, when it refused to work for him... he was 90. Don't cry. He was happy... or maybe he was sad... he had a... life.... which could only be compared to his own... he loved... and he was satisfied that he loved nothing at all. He had no basis for happiness. Happiness was a fairy tale that his mother told him a very long time ago... some vague notion of a feeling or a life or anything. Nothing, really. Only what he had the pleasure for it to be. It didn't exist but in his head. He was stupid in what he had fooled himself into believing... which turned out to be nothing at all. His entire life was a delusion of his entire creation. He walked because they said he could walk. He talked because they said he could talk. He was everything of a boy wrapped up in the universe (a universe created for us long ago). he had no intentions to destroy it, just to live in it. He added pages. He wasn't modern, modern was him. Modern is the grain of sand 6 million years ago. It's fucked up, I know, but, it's still here. The only way to lose it is to kill everything... or possibly create everything? finally? that's a happy thought. But, what is a happy thought? is it actually nothing at all? are we tampering here with a force far greater than we can imagine? obviously not, or we would not be able to imagine it... but, what is happening? should we build? are we destroying? maybe destruction is a means to a new creation... or maybe it's just destruction. But, we have our own happiness -- our own fairy tale. And is that bad? is there more? should we find out? is this only the surface? is this ridiculous? if this idiot of a brain can't find out, who are we to leave it to? the ones who will understand? the ones who are interested? well, let me tell you; their interests are eclectic. This IS chaos. In so much order as we can stand, this is chaos. So, the boy is just a spark of whatever imagination I have left. Have I created a new boy? or have I destroyed the memory that I have ingrained in yours? it's all quite obvious that I'm rambling and have no such basis for anything, but, isn't that just the way?