The hole within, the chasm… you know the one? The one that whispers in your ear on a cold winter night “you’re not whole, there is something amiss”. There is something amiss, something that’s slightly ajar; you’ve bumped the furniture and now a hole has appeared beneath it; the floor boards are full of holes, just like you – Swiss cheese. Only once we fall through the floor do we awake to the realisation that our home has been built on unstable foundations. Unstable foundations that have been built atop quicksand, and this quicksand is hungry, it’s hungry for time – your time. It sucks you dry, and then spits you out. Congratulations on your white picket fence, you’re now a slave. You’re a slave to the whims of another; what about you… what do you desire?
Child, a kidney punch isn’t going to fill that hole, no matter how many times you beg for it; the only thing big enough to fill that dark expanse is fulfilment. The illusive feeling of meaning, of purpose, of something greater than oneself; only this is dense enough to withstand the entropy of existence; it’s mass is too great, the existential dread becomes all consumed – the antidote lies bearing this mass and refusing to warp. Go now, you know what you must do; fly – your velocity is great… the event horizon has been escaped.