Sweet Somber Soulful

Ever a breath away, riding on the winds. The taste of laughter, the smell of sorrow, the sound of fear, the feel of...indifference. All of the senses and nonsenses we hold dear and hostage to our self image. Our vision of ourselves will forever be tragically rooted between what we fear that we are and what we hope others believe that we are. In occasional fleeting moments the texture of our being comes into focus; the more sharply rendered the more quickly we adjust the composition so as to create a more obscure perspective. We reduce, reuse, and recycle our emotion, acceptance, empathy, and save, borrow, lend, and purchase outrage, joy, fear, and schadenfreude with our attention. Spans of certainty mar this landscape of doubt. To be certain is not to know, but to not know how to accept what is. Is this the means or the end...are we seeking a destination or have we arrived...does it matter? Truth is what you arrive at when you run out of imagination.