Fall, 2012, the end of the world as we know it… Funny how it seems that the most profound beginnings are almost always born in the wake of some monumental ending. This is my thought as I give definition to the date of my era. So, what is this that I am getting at? What proof am I introducing, if it can be called one at all? This is the function of record, to unravel some truth, is it not? Well, perhaps only if the accuracy of a history is either of little importance or something that its author is ever in ignorance to. The truth; is among my possessions, its conveyance is not. Honestly--
While leveling, admittance, and guilt are still in my human sack of possession, I wish to divulge an unsightly insight. I am no writer by profession, nor by education, simply I am one in spite of those whom have the audacity to take inventory of what their fellow man may or may not possess. This is the entirety of the agent of that gives my waking life propulsion. The everlasting perpetuation of what capability continues to be: that which we have done.
The fall of 2012; delivered to man upon the shoulders of summer, of spring, of winter, of year prior, of years prior, of seasons past, of men past, of love whence, of suffering before, of continence evermore. Save the tongue from words predicting repetition and favor those ephemeral, like each of us. So very similar, begging in tugs for the familiar and never once the identical…