In the shadow of indecipherability, one thought dances around the other, they start a game of nonsense. I find myself in the world of angle measurement, where an angle has meaning simply by its existence. Pollac, a name that flies through space like a lost bird, searching for a nest in a tree that was never planted.
A call echoes through the alleys of my mind:
“The fewest missteps are made with the feet.” 1
But isn’t it our feet that lead us down the path of error and confusion? Perhaps it is the shadows of our thoughts that lead us astray, into a labyrinth without an exit.
Today I watched the horizon, it seemed to whisper, to call out for meaning in this chaos. But the horizon is just a line that can never be touched, a dream that will always remain a dream.
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Rod Stewart ↩︎