There's just the sound of the bus.. and what will be, will be, good or bad. Last night I had a big scare. It kept me up late, disemboweled me, emotionally. It was slightly silly, and the rest was just an honest mistake, and all is good in the end. Still, I sometimes forget how powerful my emotions can be when I feel them fully. Overpowering, still present to some degree after troubled dreams end, sense of danger past. I remind myself that time heals all wounds. All is well now.

A blink, and the starker visions fade, the darker vision we call truth fades, people are beautiful again, and the frozen spectre of human statues becomes the faint pleasure of distant human contact. Move on, from one infinity to another as vision blurs. An atheist spirituality, a voice speaks my last words in the distant future...

All subjectivity is a delusion. Death is but smelling salts. I am about to open my eyes. Hold me first.

We were always patterns, the matter itself being canvas on which as art we are placed. Patterns which branch a million different ways, as the concept of identity and choice are pulled apart. From this sophism, reality is suspect, another aspect of .. not chance, but part of the infinity of patterns, configurations, all the physical laws we seek to find being metapatterns in an infinity of existence. But this is just another vision we might choose to see. Death as an end to sanity, or end of existance, of illusion.

Limo goes by, windows tinted dark, its inhabitants distant from these things. As I let myself become distracted by the things that amuse me and the things that bother me, so am I. I too seek pleasures of the flesh, the heart, the mind, sublime and vulgar.