The Theory of Nowhere

Times in time framed in frames, in due which the unleashed and withdrawn; reborn and unmade. The coming and going of faces that do not differ much despite progression; one of curiosity, impetuousness, eagerness, and stubbornness. Victories and failures; defined and broken. Change is propelled by the need of catalysts time demands; that is, as time remains as a mere human invention; which is to say, everything is purely a matter of relevance and perception. There's only so much one can do to make the best and the worst of everything. The rest would be a matter of consequence. Much has been written, but none will ultimately have any paramount significance to the cycle of systems. I wouldn't call it nostalgia or memory; it's a meaningless rant of the things and persons that we may and could have been and achieved based on "If only". I wander in solitude, detaching myself from this place that bears little resemblance to the image I once thought to be one of timeless elemental creations and immortalizations of my being despite my physical absence and decay. Romanticism is to die for. Had I a will, time would cease; I would demortalize existence itself. In the end, I will not be missed. I'm just missed. I'm not bound by the rules of existence of any kind, for I am not who I am. If change is relevance, then constancy is obsolete; that is, nothing. I am void in as much as I am space - a room the size of will itself. Everyone wanders aimlessly yet knowingly yet helplessly, and still their neurotic need and desire for control and power drives them to shape information to fit personal "political" agendas by means of postmodernic arguments as a whimsical philosophy. Indeed, the personal is political; there's no such thing as "politically correct". As we are from dust to dust, so does our understanding of all that's seemingly perceived. The edge of life is equivalent to the edge of death. All for none, and none for all.