Sunday, April 22, 2007

doesn't crash just yet

The foot's proclivity for step, the mind's propensity for uniqeness, the passive acceptance of consciousness; we all tread this planet and search for our identity. Will I find my identity in this career that pays the bills, will I find my life in the subgenre of culture that I identify with, will I find sense in that which appears to lack sense. 182 fish leapt out of the ocean while I stumbled through infinite green. 10,479 drops of rain fell on my helmet as I rode oscillating up and down, up and down on the cavernous road. 33,294 key strokes have performed their function on this idyllic day. Do these events create inner substructures that form our existential grid? Will the next wave culture shock reverse our arbitrary, subjective notions of morality? I'm seen unrealized, just us figure victims; side and I lose in such a half interesting bottom.

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