Wheels and reality

Let’s just say that it boils down to circles. Some circles are practical as ‘working’ objects such as wheels . That kind of work transfers into metaphors for cycles that encapsulate time into recurring sequences and upon that establishing mathematical functions premised upon the regularity and finiteness of the defined parameter of a specific circle. Narratively, these recurring cycles contribute to the structure of a promise. The promise occurs as a part of the predictable and finite nature of circles. And that is because it is the outcome of a wheel traversing the total distance of its circumference at rates defined by the force moving them or by abstract analysis. From this eternal return we derive a function, a function of repetition. From the 'performance' of repetition we create a predictable state from which we infer the conditions of a reality. Culture and its performance play into this repetition as a function of mental and body learning, through drill, how to perform actions significant to work, play, and ultimately the ethnic space making performed and subsequently occupied by cultural actors.

"on what do we stand?"

Dietrich Bonhoeffer asked this question in a letter to confidants on the eve of their assassination attempt on Adolf Hitler.

I ask this question because I have an answer fitting to my situation--rock bottom. I stand on rock bottom.

Sometimes the filth and the futility of my life come to the fore, and I see that I am a scared and weak and alone person for most of my day. And I have been that way for most of my life.

On what do we stand? For any of us I suspect it is a mix of hopes, aspirations, everyday routines, and a sense of self that at least offers the bloke some for steering his life. Some put a foot on a drug regimen, prescription, illegal, or a combined. I sometimes feel like I'm at the bottom of a well that has long since dried up, and the only thing to offer me companionship are the mummified remains of bats. Their leathery wings dry and curl into a macabre hand wave.

"Hi Jason." They say, calling me to them, making me one of their familiars, offering me a silent communion.