“I rebel; therefore I exist.”
― Albert Camus

The herd live normal lives.
What's a normal life?

Isn't it to taste again a retrieved piece of last night's meal from between one's teeth?
Isn't it an old lover, shriveled and lame, trying to re-experience the ecstasy of his first teen love but lost long ago?
Isn't it to rekindle a calling when passion has grown cold?

A normal is an old movie.
A normal is stale saliva.
A normal is stable center on a spinning wheel.

A normal offers a shelter, but no home.
A normal binds two together, but no love.
A normal sustains life, even luxuries, but no joy.

A rebel lives beyond.
He is fluid nothing.
His home is anxiety.

Only Zeus is immovably still, unchanging silence.
Out of boredom, he creates time.
A rebel is a ******* infant of Chronos.