Willoughby The Watcher
Nothing is apparent other than our predilection for catastrophe through the use of rhyme or reason. It all boils down to what it is that which we percolate through the Universe. usually it’s through time and deceit but many modes of operandi exist. Gazing through a fine lens, we think we see.
If it takes a man to make a man what then are we to do with a reality beyond imagination. Shall we play a game of chess? Like it or not rules come into play and then we are there, surrounded by our own desires and living the life we call ‘good’. Stepping apart, there is no separation in which to do our dirty little deeds. Importance can only take us so far.
In thought we live and in thought we die while yet ignoring the improbable. Truth be told there is no truth and yet the hunger drives Man to madness.
I’ll leave it at that, for now.