Towards a Meaningless Incongruity

I realized while at my nieces college graduation celebration, as I watched and listened to words and topics exchanged amongst the celebrants, how indeed little in common currency I shared them. Watching the rain and spatter upon windows large and contrived, how the vast interests of humans, these contrivances to while away ennui and living, were utterly banal.

Of the billions of bipedal bifurcated enlarged brained animals pressed from vaginas and penises, a handful can be enumerated on fingertips as most profound. The rest of people, including this author, fall into the everydayness of Heidegger, or the plain uninspired averageness of Dostoyevsky description.

Now these noises blend into a moiety meaningless, perhaps the other moiety has meaning in some parlay or dance meant to defend against the sterility of the pens people find themselves contained in. For me it is still banal, pigs all.

Until such events scale my scenery, become denied. Wherefore shall I find completion? There is a call, a ghostly echo, like multiple footsteps on a busy street with your eyes closed, on the edges in a light hoping to focus on my being, my time. I have yet to discover the sublime.

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