Twenty months later.. .. ..

The only antidote i've found to the emptiness of existence is opening up the dream space within my waking life, ie, escapism. I'm not an escapist because i'm passive, but because all you lot don't make sense to me & i'd rather replace the absurd with the abstract. It's not the happenings that i fail to understand, for everything within the world does happen for a reason, it's rather the point of sheer presence that i just don't seem to get. Sometimes it's crisp & clear, like the flick of a lighter amidst the depths of exquisite silence, but it's always an ephemeral moment that flees my mindspace shortly after it's born, and i'm left there stripped of all constant but change, and bare of all belief but in transience, for timelessness is exclusively momentary, and truth is but a fleeting instant, which i think has just made an appearance as i serenely exhaled, but eventually vanished along with the fumes.