We’ll find the sage; kill and imbibe him to start living; stop believing: “That soon will come the day when life will invite me!”...it’s not waiting, it’s not hesitating. Ten thousand made unmade; ten thousand paths unpaved: end in one realization. From cradle to the grave, the flux-like film of life; it flickers, the cadence dissipates. Is there nothing left inside? Are we wearing ourselves thin? As the novelty subsides, awaken the dream again. Now what remains, when form loses function? It’s arbitrary; it’s not necessary. Love and distain, the pendulum swinging. Our best foot forward is one foot in the grave - godless endeavors and pathless paths unpaved. From the cradle to the grave, the cadence dissipates, from the cradle to the grave. La soledad es espejo que no miente - I remember! Say it to me. Hell yeah.