It's so annoying when you need to think. There's noise everywhere, even when there's none of what one would conventially call noise. There's noise in the absence of noise. And it's compressing, filling, and distracting. I can't think with so many others thinking so loudly around me. And I use the word "thinking" loosely, for really, who thinks anymore? As technology advances we are driven further and further into selfishness, introspect. Does anyone contemplate life outside this planet, this solar system, this galaxy? Does anyone attempt to picture a thread of space-time, the infinite alterations and implications in a single loop or twist or snap? Do the Fates truly hold that ethereal pair of scissors?

There's too much lack of thought here, and it's so so so loud, and so hard to push out of the way. At home, when I'm outside, alone, before the neighbors are out, I can push away the rambuctious nothingness, walk, and contemplate without interruption. I haven't been able to do so in a long time. And so here I am, at my keyboard, attempting to reach once again that levle of thought that is meditative, precognitive, imperfect, imperative- archaeic and old and new at once.

I dream almost nightly of swinging, sometimes from an invisible rope, and it makes sense. But there's so little time and opportunity to dwell upon it properly and analyze what is being put before me. We as humans barely value time for what it is. Oh, it's irrelevant, really. It passes, in its continuum, a conundrum of strings, a ball of yarn, moving and spinning. But true thought, that state of allowing the mind to leave the pathetic physical constraints we have seems to be a lost art. The few who practice it or attempt to are shot down with bigotry and simple lack- of thought, of understanding, of compassion.

Applegate was right, it IS all a game. We are all mere Ketrans waiting to interface, waiting to take part in it. But is there an Ellemist? The whole idea of that deep thought revolves around the idea of there being no true power other than that of life itself; so, in the theory of nature, there is no Ellemist, there is no Crayak. But who, then, is responsible for the wars that are going on? And who for stopping them? Are we truly capable of either ourselves?

I'm so glad I'm going home this weekend. I need to sit under the stars. I need to feel the morning dew. I need to get away from this migraine of compressed minds, of minds who lack the ability to see beyond the next day, the next race. And maybe I can't see, either. But I do catch an ocassional glimpse of understanding, and, when I do- it is bliss- and terrifying. Some say ignorance is bliss; but that must be untrue, for most of our species is in ignorance, and hardly blissful. No, bliss is rest, peace- and to achieve that we must think. And that, faster than anything else, we are losing. A dieing art; a lost breed. In the relativity of time, we are already lost. So what is left to dream? For a small portion of an algebraic equation of equity, what matters? Who wins the game, and who loses? By what rules do we play?

All I can say is this: in the end, it is the collective that chooses, as is the case for all things, both living and not. Life surpasses death, for death is singular and life is multiple. An endless dance of the two, a hybridized melody which ultimately ends in peace. The only question is- how to achieve it, who will do so, and when will that be? Will it be a day we live to see?