2003-07-17 - 3:42 a.m.
It is bedrock when the words will no longer flow. It is the season of ambivalence to ambition. It is my season. It is a farewell to arms and a disillusionment of heroes and adversaries. It is the meaning behind the irrelevance of heroism, and the futility of the struggle by which comes no victory but the passage of time and life. That is the day when the words never arrive. That is the day love dies and chooses not to be reborn. It is the futility of chaos. It is the brutality of this existence, and hidden are the faces which must acknowledge it, hidden in animal instinct; the words do not flow.
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