Existence is an insanity of a sort. A perpetual empirical nightmare. A finality with a beginning that will never again exist. It is a spiral; hope and fear, in an endless dichotomy. Purposeful meaninglessness. A purgatory for the present, a fiction for the future, and an accumulation of the past. Confined in a solitary shell, yet whole. Integrated through the planes of space and time, yet inert. The wish is of torture, a beautiful chaos which will perturb this order. A fate that is unknown; entropic and mystical. Thus, a change of residence; Escape! Escape from the ebb and flow of recurring tides. Roses will no longer bloom, for withering has gone out of style. Utility will have forgone its usefulness. Facts no longer yield their truth. A fabrication for deconstruction. A destruction of melancholy, a creation of joy; The Anarchy.
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