there was a glimmer, I thought, of potential that I could explain something to someone and they would understand, and see the light but it's impossible. no one can hear they have ears but they're merely decorative so convinced they are, of their own narrative that any alternative is just rude tell them that their view is wrong it's perfectly reasonable they'll be offended but their view is wrong they don't understand because they just don't understand because they didn't take the trouble to understand because they can't read, though it's all written out for them because it's not about conceptual structures but about experience. and it's their experience and that's what they understood and they can't abstract. they cannot see they're just a cliché, a textbook pattern well understood by others interested in the nuances and vagaries of the human tragedy and a tragedy 'tis, full of tears and disappointments of regrets and a wasted youth and squandered golden years a vast wasteland that serves as the fabric of the incessant entelechy we consider evolution I have tried... but it's altogether pointless the world will keep trudging forth at it own pace, unperturbed by my futile efforts to guide it, corral it in my misguided notions of what matters or what makes sense so tears it is, and tragedy. but also sunshine [19-VI-2021]