I believe, most of the time, that my place in this world is for the purpose of serving something. I lament only that I have not gained a claim to be loved; for what I believe I have given, or for my accomplishments in such giving, of everything that I had.

Here, my point is that this fragmented self that I am tends to wander through the modalities of expressing that fundamental love and understanding; which I still believe in as the primary abstract premise of my life. Therefore, from this my modal truth; an aspect of my desire to speak and believe freely tends to seep outward as my word and art.

By some compulsion I feel driven to express, to the best of my ability, what I found myself bound to sacrifice everything for. Please do not dismiss my art and my essays; it is far too easy for both derision and patrimony to break any median stasis to which I adhere with the last of my hopes.

Now, I have only my retreat from the compulsion of force which drove me to achieve more of what I hadn’t wanted than I ever dreamed; and to break under the burden of my injuries. To have been trodden upon and punished in multiple theaters of a war publicly over has taught me that I am always the enemy. I can no longer believe in the universal or it’s factions as though omnipotence can be derived from a mortal vantage of entirety or an empowered constituency of a them or hubristic self.

Retrospectively, I would have chosen to marry. I believe such sacrament gives context to life. Increasingly I doubt whether any leadership or structure exists beneath our federal levels. I worry that a power born of transportation purposed for the establishment of our sovereignty over Eurasian tyranny has or will fly away from any concept of place. And, liberated as we are from the menial; there will be nothing foundational to the future of a new idle American proletariat with no purpose, requirements, nor device by which to see meanings beyond the glimmer.

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strigsci.com/mon