How do I explain the cosmos; go so far as to define what I don't actually know. A lot of people have tried. People like Bowie, people who I look up to. I see a great black existence, one that is booming with light, one that stretches the confounds of the human mind. There is little we can do to describe it, so isn't it funny how we try so hard? It's expanses reach further than you or I can fathom. Further than a thousand fathoms. And yet even the littlest of suddleties matter to us. At my desk, in the luminescence of my lamp, I think to the fullest of my abilities to comprehend what can be out there. Although I try my best to live out others reactions or actions before they even happen, with varying success I might add, I do the same to this matter and come up blank. Not even my most abstract dreams allude to this. Not even my inebriated thoughts, as lucid as they my be, can shed some light on this darkness in the sky. I fear that I may never really know what is up there or its mysteries or its beauty. Oh the beauty. It is probably the most desired thing to know at this time. I could care less for those who seek a claim to the riches that obviously lye beyond this desolate and dilapidated world. I just want to see those rainbows of supernovas and the and feel the sudden tingle of a quasar as it emerges eons away. A single point in time, that is what I am. And if I don't see all these things I have spoke of, I blame not myself, but inner clock-work of the universe that has set my destiny, no matter how many times I have changed it, not to be satisfied with this mundane life.
I may return to this and if I do, don't be surprised.
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