Unleashed by fate and fashioned of the things we believed go into making character. For in forgetting our origins and identity we lost all those things that we knew for certain. No teaming main streets with neighbors in care and joy of fellowship. No awestruck children seeking a dream to be policeman, fireman or extraordinary leader of men. Where has the reality we once lived been stacked or filed away? What fate have we chosen in our escape?

This is not a practice session. No fool’s gold or placebo given to generate a real response to facsimile. These are the folded arms of hearts closed to the ideas of rationale and reason. Our sons men who seek games all day and sex all night even if it must occur at limited bandwidth hiding from the sleeping family we’ve forgotten to esteem. A caudron full of nuclear nightmares await the unfolding plans of man. A world stage of pseudonym and avatar.

They made us proud in reaching for mountains of the mind, hills beyond midnight and ideas waiting for tomorrow’s understanding. They were great children if not difficult and reminded us that the best recipes often fail and the best cakes take a bit of luck and persistence. What day is this that I must forget who I was meant to be in order to fit into the modern paradigm? Magics, mysteries and manhood. A faithful missive. Penned before time began, expository fashioned in the golden fires of heart. What day have we began now that the end is ever present?

No minced words. No chalice filled with waters that great thirst and leave men wanton of nothing. The park, back roads where firearms repeat, looking for rock or robbery. We are illustrious, demonstrative and full of illusion, deception and disrepair. Our time has come, to focus upon the nothing we have wrought or seek to assemble. Into this version of our coming we inject hopeless agony while the elderly know the end result before we’ve even ventured. For in the wisdom found beyond the moment of fear they recommend contrition.