Hall of Infinite Doors

The following is a rant. You may classify it as a monologue. I am writing this because I am depressed. Yes, depression is the reason I am writing this. Or perhaps it could be better classified as upset? Or maybe anger? Perhaps disappointment? Or shall we go with the simple self loathing. Whatever words you wish to use to describe it I think you the reader know what I am talking about. I doubt anyone will be reading this besides myself no so there is no actual reason for writing it down. The thoughts are all trapped within my mind so recording them is simply counter productive. One may wonder why I am writing this down if this is for no one else besides myself and I am going to be the only one who reads it. First of all, there is always the possibility that I will not be the only one to read it and that perhaps I shall release it to the general public at some point in time in the future. Though I doubt I would formally release it to the public some day it may be posted on the internet depending on how ambiguous it is. There is also always the possibility that I will allow some close friend to read it, perhaps my dear friend Ross since he is the only one who may have appreciation for such a twisted, pointless and depressing piece of literature. Either of these possibilities is by definition possible but then there is always the greater chance that I shall keep it locked away or the chance that I shall some day delete it or it will become lost. Perhaps during a transfer between computers or a system failure I shall lose the file or perhaps I shall delete it by choice having moved on to a better period in my life. These are all of course all possibilities, I suppose we shall see. I will not use any paragraphs, spaces, indents or any indicators at all that will distinguish different sections of this piece of writing. This is simply a blob of what I am thinking, what I am feeling, my thoughts at this very moment. It is unedited aside from the obvious grammatical error which I feel instinctively compelled to correct, though this only applies to some grammatical errors and not others. Many pass through my selective radar and it depends on the nature and type of error that occurs whether or not I shall take the time to correct it. If my Microsoft word program picks up an error and underlines it with either a red or green squiggly line the chances that I shall fix it are greater but I will not necessarily do it, the odds are just increased. The longer the squiggly line or if it is red rather than green increases the chances even more but does not by many means garuntee it. On the contrary it just increases the likely hood that I will recognize the error and change it or right click on the error and check what the error is that it is picking up and select a possible correction on the list that they provide for me. If the correct choice is not on the list that they provide for me then I shall do one of two things. I shall either come up with the change myself or become discouraged and ignore it. There is also the chance that I will run a spell check, which is unlikely however possible, I could also just pick a chunk of text and run a spell check for that. If I do run a spell check then I will make the changes suggested if they are correct, edit it myself if it does not suggest the correct change, change it to another wrong version and see if the correction picks up what I am looking for if it has not already, or I shall become frustrated and ignore it all together. Anyway, enough about revision I suppose I should talk about the reason I am writing this piece. First of all I should probably save because I am almost finished with the first page in size twelve font single spaced. You may wonder why I spelled out twelve instead of writing it and my answer is that it is longer and that I do not want numbers in this. Perhaps I shall have numbers later, I do not know but that does not matter. After this sentence is finished I shall save this document and I believe I will save it as "long depressed rant" thought that by no means suggests that I have decided it is about depression yet over the other aforementioned catalysts for me writing this piece but instead is just a title that I gave it so that I may have a title to save it other, a working title if you will that is subject to change and probably will be changed in the future at some point in time to a title that is more suitable. There, now I have saved my work so I have some record of my thoughts and feelings, but mainly thoughts because I think my feelings instead of feeling them so that if I lose my memory or pass away that a record shall remain. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Why I am I ranting? Why am I senselessly slamming away at the keys of my keyboard. Why I am I wasting my time and energy to put these thoughts into words that can be saved to my computer. This is a very good question because the majority of people probably would not understand why I am doing this. They probably would not understand why I sit here writing away for no apparent reason at all. It is quite a strange thing for one person to do, occupy their time writing away like this about really nothing at all, or at least nothing relevant, entertaining or anything with some sort of benefit to society as a whole. I am simply forming letters and characters into words and sentences that are semi-coherent. I am already wondering if anybody, including myself will ever actually read this. Will anyone take time from their short life, time, one of the most valuable resources that any human being has because it is very difficult to produce more and it is always against you to read these thoughts (and the occasional feeling) of mine. It is also strange that I am taking time out of my busy life to write this. It is quite strange that I would sit here and waste my time when I have so many other activities I could be occupying my time with. Activities that up until recently I was so excited about but now instead I spend my time typing this long dreary rant out onto the computer with no plan of ever ending it or ever leaving the computer except to fufill obligations and undergo the necessary bodily functions for survival. I mean, I guess at some point my fingers will fall off from typing this, but I wonder when that will happen? I wonder when my fingers will finally quit on me for forcing them to press these keys again and again. When will they say that they have had enough, not literally but metaphorically and give out. First the nerves within them shall send signals of extreme pain to my mind as warning signs before they give out. This pain shall probably grow more and more intense until finally it is unbearable and if I continue to do so eventually the pain will not be physically capable of getting any stronger and I shall grow numb to it. It is like accelerating, a human being does not feel themselves moving at great speeds, they only feel themselves changing speed or direction. I will eventually not feel pain, but a change in pain and if the pain becomes constant I shall develop the ability to ignore it all together. So essentially I will lose the ability to feel pain eventually and then at some point my joints, muscles and bones will not be able to take any more and will lose the ability to function. Perhaps the damage shall be temporary and my fingers will recover to type again or perhaps if I work hard enough and ignore all warnings and pain they will permanently lose their ability to type out words and sentences. Or perhaps my keyboard shall stop working first. The keys will wear out from being pressed so many times and I will have to either repair the keyboard or the much more likely solution of replacing it. Of course the hard drive could also blow out and I can lose everything or the monitor could blow and I could lose the ability to see what I was doing or something else in my CPU system would fail and I would be unable to continue the task at hand. Basically I have determined that there is an end, that eventually I will have to stop working on this. Having established and end we now know that this will be finished at some point. Whether it is destroyed or persists, is complete or incomplete is something I cannot predict. Whether it will only last for ten more minutes or hundreds of years or something in between is another thing I cannot predict so I will not even try only to say that it will probably fall somewhere in that range but whatever it may be I shall remain writing none the less. Now I must leave for a second to urinate for I have to really bad due to water I just drank. Now that I have urinated I feel relieved and I believe I shall hit the save button again before I continue my progress on this piece of work that I still have not established a clear cut reason for creating. Now that I have saved I can continue my work for a while longer. Sometimes events occur that we did not want to occur, events that are outside of our wishes. Sometimes we, we referring to human beings, or at least some human beings, claim that these events are out of our control, or at least that some of these events are out of our control. The determination of whether or not an event is out of our control is very subjective. An event could certainly be in ones control by one individual's perception but be out of their control by another's. This event is itself no matter what anyone says, it stands alone in its definition of itself yet it can appear to have such different causes by different people. Some may curse the world because of their misfortune when it really could have been altered or prevented by their action. This is true of so many things. Yes we all know the expression that hindsight is always twenty twenty, or if we don't we should. Twenty twenty is considered perfect vision by optometrists, though one can have vision better than that so it is an inherently flawed scale but aside from that point what the saying means is that when you are looking in retrospect at a situation you can always see more clearly the circumstances and what actions should have been taken. Until the technology is found to manipulate time, if it is at all possible, then it is irrelevant what we see in retrospect aside from what can be applied to future events and what is important is what we do in the present during the event. This means that most events are to some measure in our control. From a neurological perspective everything that makes up our reality is fueled, driven, created and perpetuated by our mind, it is a movie to which we are producer, director and actor so essentially we are completely fabricating it from that standpoint. From a more pratical standpoint there are very few inevitablilities and for the most part everything is within our control to some degree. We can always take actions that change that outcome. But then the question is if things could go better or have a more favorable outcome then why don't they. Perhaps it is because fault is really an artificial construct of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to define its existence. Perhaps it is because after all is said and done it really isn't our fault at all and that we are in fact in control of nothing. What are we as humans, as matter, as anything composed of? The answer is energy in the forum of matter. While it is different types and manifestations of matter we are all built of matter, particle systems. We can predict with almost pinpoint accuracy how two particles will react in what is otherwise a vaccume. So how about two hundred particles, are two billion or a googleplex? It really doesn't matter the number, that just increases complexity but not the principles that define it. With enough computational power anything that these systems did over time could be calculated. Why that calculation ability may not be attainable without resources much greater than the universe can sustain that does not ultimately alter the potential that it could occur. That does not alter the fact that it all is following some sort of a very complicated algorithm. Since human beings are nothing but matter, we must follow the same laws, therefore, while we may seem infinitely complex we are infact entirely predictable and therefore helpless. A simple chemical compound in a system of chemicals is causing me to produce this and therefore a do. No higher power is present guiding it, particle interactions cause the human beings to develop the concept of a higher power so that we have an artifical purpose to drive us to procreate and therefore succeed in an ecosystem. If we all accepted that everything was meaningless many human beings would not be able to take it and therefore the success of the human race would see a steep decline. We are not strong and dare I say mature enough to handle a concept as depressing and realistic as that. This takes us back to real which is subjective so really nothing can be proven or disproven. All of this, everything we observe is a construct of our mind and is therefore all able to be reconstructed or recreated exactly as it was before and is therefore not what we would call special or unique. This is really circular logic because by realizing this helplessness everything is rendered relative to be before this realization completely invalid and we are reduced to nothing more than lifeless protein sacks waiting for our expiration date or as the "faithful" would say our judgement day. This is quite a sad concept because it leaves no room for improvement. While human beings can discernably improve this was predictable and therefore pre-programmed and we really have no true control over it. If someone becomes wise or intelligent enough to see the truth and cannot adapt to this realization they do not procreate and die out leaving the mediocre to reign supreme over the celestial and someday extra celestial ecosystem. But how can this realization be trusted if it is made my a creature with no control, it could easily be false and is virtually impossible to completely validate or invalidate, hence leading us to a paradox. This can be answered by saying that there are no absolutes, only limits that cannot be reached which is a cop out but the best that can be stated without making leaps of faith or fabricating things that are not so. Anyway, back to the original matter at hand, why am I writing this. I am writing it to take my mind of other things, other things that hurt so much more when I am left alone to think about them without distraction. This distraction helps distract me from the pain, temporarily relieving some of it, not different from a drug. This writing is my drug. I know that it is not permanent because I still feel the pain right now and as soon as I stop it will return with greater force than ever. My idea is to stay distracted until I am to tired to keep my eyes open and then I shall fall asleep and only feel the pain in my dreams. I shall expend all my energy doing this so if my writing quality steadily declines you, the reader, shall know why. As my energy decreases the amount or quality of my writing if there was any to start will shall decrease as well until it tapers off entirely and then I start later refreshed or renewed. Food or drink could temporarily increase my energy and lead a spike in writing this as could a chemical released in my brain but otherwise it shall follow that general trend, especially if you were to average it out. It will then jump if I am refreshed but still feel intense pain and need to continue to relieve it. I have hit almost three thousand words already, a little under two hundred short of it and I do not feel any better only worse. Perhaps writing this will only make me feel worse but I shall continue doing it none the less until I feel better. I wonder if anyone could understand this, if anyone has been in the place that I am now. I am not sure but I know that I am already feeling cramps in my hands. I should probably take a break but I am not going to. I shall keep going and keep writing, hoping that the pain in my joins will perhaps help distract me from that enigmatic matter at hand. If someone else were to be reading this right now I wonder if they would wonder and be curious to what this matter is that I am referring to. If they know me well they know in writing I like to be cryptic and will leave them to discover it on their own and discover the complexity, simplicity or duality of this conflict that I have. I doubt anyone aside from one or two human beings would ever put forth the energy to decipher this but it is certainly always a possibility. I can already feel the cramps getting worse and I think it is because I have been typing solidly without any sort of break at all for a while. My hands need a chance to cool down or they shall build up lactic acid from an inability to supply the muscle cells enough oxygen to undergo cellular respiration forcing them to undergo anaerobic respiration yielding a small fraction of the energy but building up lactic acid which causes pain and soreness especially in the future. Well I just took a short break and the hour grows late yet I do not feel any better. I am hoping I get tired enough from doing this that I will be unable to keep my eyes open any longer and sleep shall come quickly so I shall not have to lay and think. Why do things have to be this way, I suppose it is just the way the universe is set up and I know things could always be better and could always be worse, it is just a matter of perception. Well, I cannot even remember fully and entirely what I was talking about so perhaps I shall start off on a purely different topic. It could be the same topic since I can't remember and do not wish to look back at what was produced before to find out. What subject material shall I type about now in order to ward off these thoughts that persist to run through my head, perhaps I shall relate a story that is fabricated and composed as I go along. This story involves a dot. This dot is simply a point in space, an insigifigant point that is infintecimely small, a one dimensional figure living in a three dimension, or fourth or fifth or greater dimensional world depending on your perception of things. This point in space was very insigifigant considering an infinite amount of replicas of it could be fit into an infintecimaly small space in our world. So what would you have this dot do, being so infintecimal. It really didn't do anything but provide an abstract concept that can be built upon when constructing more complex and practice models. The dot itself is useless and only contributes in that it is an elementary step that must be taken to reach something greater. That is the end of my story. I don't know why I wrote it or why I thought of it, but I suppose reasons are pointless at this point, if you are still reading this you are most likely completely insane. Perhaps I can let delusions of grandeur flow through my head and in that case I can say that this is a brilliant avante-guard piece of artwork that is ahead of its time and in the future shall be studied and read my scholars world wide. It shall be the dread of every student in a college or university taken a literature class that will have to study it and learn it in order to achieve that number or letter grade that they so desperately desire. Someday the language I use shall be archaic and need to be looked up so I might as well make up my own words as many great authors have since my work won't be understood anyway if I am targeting this towards an audience that shall not even exist until after I am long dead. This audience shall go through this monontonous drabble and curse the world for having to read this piece and cursing me for composing it. Papers will be written interpreting my meaninglessness and in time reasons will be determined for why I wrote it by some professor and will be adopted as if they were truth, since truth is relative who is to say that they are not true. I will be long dead and no one will be able to attest otherwise. It will be one of those pieces of literature that you must be of clear mind and well awake and take piece by piece or simply go insane, unless you are already insane and of like mind to myself in which case you could get through this quite quickly and follow the train of thought as if it were your own, or perhaps even better. Of course these are all delusions of grandeur and have little or no support or evidence in reality, or the relative reality that my mind has constructed which is variable, entropic and always changing so perhaps tomorrow this statement and perhaps this entire piece shall be inaccurate and worthless drable. Since everything in the universe is so entropic anything that seems to be constant can only be measured by its value times the relative time it shall persist to be what it is now and nothing more. Nothing is eternal and nothing is permanent and the sands of time weather away all things eventually and all things are lost within them. Time is an infinite desert of infinities yet so relative and able to be manipulated by gravity and speed to a great extent. Perhaps time is nothing more than a simple trick of an entitiy to keep humans enslaved forever, the answer to that question no one may ever find because everything that has a beginning has an end or rather a transition or change so great it is unrecognizable from its former self. I'm ignoring more errors I realize as I get deeper into this but I am tired and this is why it has occurred. I am on page six of this single spaced size twelve font piece and I feel no better, I don't know if I ever typed this much in one spurt but that does not matter. Definitely not in a conversation with myself and I wonder if others read this if they would think less or much less of me. It would depend on who read it but for many it is a distinct possibility for what I am doing is not normal and it is certainly not natural by any means. Humans in a natural state do not have a sort of mental diarrhea pour out at length. It is amazing that something could catalyze me to do this, or at least it seems so to me because normally I am unmotivated to do anything but this seems so right but at the same time even more so wrong. I wonder if later I will look back and lament the waste of what I have done and in doing so waste even more precious resources. I am tempted to hand this in to a teacher, professor or instructor of some sort and see their comments and if they would actually be willing to read past the first page. If someone were willing to read and absorb all of this I would be willing to accept any comments or criticisms they may have, but not until they truly read all of it, not just skimming or skipping chunks or ignoring all together or doing a first sentence last sentence read. I'm sure the lack of organization would really get to a lot of people because of the difficult it makes I orienting ones self when journeying through it but this is not my problem it is their's unless of course I want this to be quaffable by the thirty reader, entertaining to those who wish to be entertained and sufficient for others outside of myself in which case it is not just their problem but mine and probably more so mine than theirs. This is not a story about adventure or drama or some stupid popcorn plot that makes readers beg for more. It is not any of that. It is just me being completely and utterly pathetic at the keyboard and seeing what I can conjure up. I believe I will turn on a light and see if that changes my state or the nature of what I am putting out at this point in time. I have turned on a light but it does not really matter since the screen is self illuminating and I have not for several years ever had to glance at the keyboard in order to type thanks to micro-type pro and a typing course I took long ago. I can simply patter away at the keyboard looking any direction or as I am doing from this point forward until the end of the sentence typing with my eyes closed like this, this is a bit harder / more difficult but I can certainly do it and would grow better at it would only a small amount of practice. Anyway, back to the matter at hand before, though I have made many transitions like this before and never made it back to any sort of matter because there was never any true concrete matter I described to write about. Whatever this might all mean to you, I am not sure exactly what it means to me I shall continue none the less. Perhaps an odyssey would help be clear my mind, one that I traveled not in this world but through writing would clear my mind and end the suffering that has driven me to write this. This odyssey could be abstract or I could try to define it better and build some sort of a narrative out of it. I think I shall let the two bleed together attempting to start with the latter and seeing what has ended up happening. Where I will start this story borrowing a lot from my good friend Homer and his Odyssey yet letting it persist on its own is a desire to reach a destination. Unlike Homers work my protagonist is not trying to get home, on the contrary he begins his odyssey at home and is trying to reach a destitation, he has a goal set but does not actually know what this goal is but he thinks it does. The lable that he has given to this goal is the invulernable coat of security. One attained this coat shall form an impenetrable shield around him and he shall not be able to be damaged. It is essentially ultimate protection from all damaging things, rendering hope unnecessary and giving unlimited confidence because it is completely fail safe. Sadness, anger, fear, aging, death, pain, suffering and so many other things cannot effect the wearer of the coat and this is why our foolhardy protagonist wishes to achieve it. He really and truly knows nothing of this coat, this armor yet he has studied it for eons and can recite more information that the amount contained within an entire encyclopedia about it. He has studied this coat from every angle and researched all he could and now feels confident one final quest will end his problems, not understanding the simple fact that nothing ends and conflict is eternal, a fact so simple in thought and concept but not so simple in practice. It is a funny matter how reality can change things. Back to our protagonist, he decided that this was his soul goal and all other goals achieved were just to clear the path for the achievement of this ultimate final goal, his devotion towards it was blind and without wisdom. He could not even realize that a man is nothing without goals and therefore to live a full life no one may have a final goal but may only continue with their other goals because without a drive, an artifical purpose (which seems real to all those who pursue it) no one can maintain a will to survive. He had seen many men who had lost their goals, indulging in vice such as alcohol which almost acts as an instant purpose and goal but is less fulfilling than they others and very damaging in pursuit and achievement. After fully researching this goal the protagonist realized that alone he would not be able to as quickly and efficiently achieve the goal as others. He therefore assembled a team, a party, a fellowship, a group, and army, whatever you may have, of some people who cared about him, some who were forced into it, some who were curious and wished to see what became of this quest, and others that were tempted by profit or guilted into aiding him in their pursuit. Since they did not share the same blind drive and desire for this goal as our protagonist they were different and ultimatey set apart from him and lacked the potential to offer help that the protagonist was capable of. Still they tagged along for their various reasons and a date was set to start the journey. While the protagonist and researched so much about this invulnerable coat he did not know the actually location and therefore his final destination, only an abstract idea of where it existed. So naturally the search began in his home town, which was scoured by mostly him with some half hearted help in his crew from top to bottom for this coat. This disturbed the other villages who did not understand his quest and therefore grew impatient with his search but he did it anyway. He did not find the coat and finally after angerying the locals who he had grown up with very much he decided it best not to waste any more time in this area and to instead pursue his search (this search that is ultimately and ironically for something impossible to attain due to its lack of existence and the contradiction it conceptually presents which does not permit for its allowance to exist) and this led him to move on to the close by neighboring town to search. This search yielded the same result as his first search but angered the locals even more who were strangers to him and violence almost broke out with the most reactive villagers but nothing ever manifested itself. The protagonist, disappointed and disheartened in his lack of success thus far took a short break to lament but then with a renewed sense of dedication determining that his goal which was not easy to attain would be more than ultimately worth while and he would get all effort put in back at least ten fold, perhaps a thousand fold when he finally succeeded and his journey would have fortified him and allowed him to have the wherewithal necessary to use and enjoy his goal properly and to its fullest potential. He then moved on past the second village north through a dark forest. This forest's canopy blocked out the sun forcing him and his fellowship to travel through darkness. Many abandon him as soon as the path grew at all difficult but some stuck by him as he traveled blind. This blind journey was made difficult by opponents in the forest that while would have been in the light simple nuisances easy to overcome were amplified to great difficult by the loss of the sense of sight. Fumbling around in the darkness through great effort and pain the protagonist ultimately overcame this obstacles and came out of the forest on the otherside mostly intact but scarred by his experience and outside the forest found a third village which he scoured, looking through its temples and treasuries and granaries and residences and hoards and everything imaginable still unable to find the coat he sought after. The villagers were very angry by his intrusion and some threw rocks which stung when they hit but did not go far out of their way to stop him. Disheartened by not being able to find the coat in the village outside the forest, or where it broke, continued onward to try to achieve his goal which would in his mind cleanse all the wounds of past failures. He then traveled along an empty and lonely path for a while, somehow feeling that this armor would be within a village or some other population center, its power attracted to life and followed the road until he found a fourth small village. He simply surveyed the outside of this dilapidated town and felt within its energy that it did not contain what he sought. He needed not enter it to know that it was not the right village and it did not contain what he sought and he moved on further up the road he was traveling to the north hoping it held what he thought it may, the armor of invulnerability and one in all answer to all of his problems. Another lonely road lead to a fifth town, very similar to the fourth yet emitted a different aura, an energy that gave the protagonist hope and he entered it hoping that he would find his coat within its modest wooden palisade walls. What he found when he asked the villagers and searched was hostility. They released their viscuous dogs upon him and he sustained many bites and scratched before his search was complete and he determined that the end of his journey was not here. Damaged but still very much alive maintaining that fiery passion and vigor in his heart, he moved on, this time north west hoping to wander into his goal their. The strange thing about this goal, the nature of it that I must mention before continuing this narrative is that it was a goal that in the narrators perception most had already achieved. They already had this invulnerability without the coat and some found other coats that provided invulnerability and he decided that since he could not conjure it up from inside he had to find his own coat so he could be like the others and finally feel comfortable and free without this burden upon him. Anyway, it is quite late now and hopefully I will be able to fall asleep so I shall stop producing this narrative now but I shall continue it later and will not stop until I have worked out what I have to… which may be indefinitely or at least until I am unable to type any longer. We shall see, for now I am signing out and I shall continue more later. Perhaps I shall continue the narrative or perhaps not, but I am sure it will be picked up at some point in the near future. While writing this may have helped a bit it does not feel potent enough to end this or ease its symptoms. Goodnight then and I shall return to continue where I left off tomorrow perhaps. One more sentence before I go, this writing has grown addictive as I watch the hours roll by but I should probably try to get some sleep for I know that I will be able to continue later. The night was particularly tough because without distraction I was unable to ward off the thoughts which then bombarded my head. I was like a fortress under siege throughout the night with little bits of sleep providing refuge. When I woke the thoughts where there, as if they had never left tearing away at the inner confines of my mind and if you believe in such a thing my soul. So maybe I will lay down a few more lines in this rant and hope that it does me some good but I shall not write nearly as much as I did before because other obligations prevent me from doing so. Isolation is a tough thing but I shall tackle that topic later. I guess I should continue with my narrative. I suppose my protagonist was moving north west at this point though direction is meaningless to the plot of this narrative if there really is one so there is no point in me saying it but I will anyway because I just simply feel like it. So the protagonist continued onward in search of that coat so he could have what he desired, the armor which so many others seemed to have achieve hoping that it would make him whole and fill the void within him. He traveled next to a large bustling town on the edge of a river that had made established for itself a successful economy through trade up and down the river. The protagonist entered under the guise of a normal travel and scouted it out. This town seemed promising and those who had remained in his fellowship (a number that was decreasing by the moment) went with him and after spending a night in the town unable to sleep plotting out his search he commensed in the morning what he was once again hopeful would be his final search and yield the armor he so desperately desired. Searching again, scouring the village brought upset to the community which this time had a local militia and town guard meant to police the are and maintain piece. His search disrupted the town and the protagonist entered a battle with these militia. After an intense melee he was able to fend them off long enough to complete his search and then with the surviving members of his fellowship fled the town determining that what the sought was not there at all. Depression then took hold of the protagonist who had grown discouraged by all of his failures. He wandered the wastelands of the north, alone, abandon by his fellowship for an unknown length of time because in his deep brooding depression time seemed to have no stability, seconds could be days and days could transform into minutes just as if it had never been a stable entity at all. Finally he dragged himself out the depression and determined that the only thing left to do was to pick up the pieces and return to his quest. He found another village in the north, this one a place where natives came to congregate during the hunting season. This normally nomadic tribe temporarily had settled down after a big kill and the protagonist thought that maybe they held the coat he searched for. After entering the camp he asked to speak with the leader and was directed to the shaman of the tribe. The protagonist related his tale and story so far and asked the shaman if he had the coat he was looking for. The shaman told him he had no such coat and furthermore there was no coat that existed, and that what the protagonist sought was something that could only be attained from inside. The protagonist could not accept this answer and grew angry and violent. Drawing his blade and summoning his inhuman strength he killed the shaman with one swing of his sword. The shaman seemed quite at piece in his post mortem state aside from the brutal, sudden and violent nature of his murder which angered the protagonist even more. When other villages came to see what had transpired they saw the protagonist covered in their leaders blood with a look of hatred in his eyes and they grabbed their spears and bows and prepared for battle with him. After the protagonist's butchery of half the tribe, not only men but some women and children the remaining ones fled assuming that the wrath of their native ancestors was upon them and they had to travel east for enlightenment and to repent before their fate was the same. At the end of that sentence I just did a word count and found that I had written exactly seven thousand words which I think is quite a substantial number to be within a long depressing rant but that does not matter because quantity and quality are irrelevant to my purposes. I suppose I shall take a break from the narrative now and I will relate to you other information as it flows forth out of my fingers. Perhaps these things that I am saying are not me at all or channeled from some other place. While I know with almost complete certainty that this is not the case many would entertain the idea to a much greater degree. Either way it feels good to get it out of me but when I stop for a moment it feels awful and the void within is even greater, as if there is no amount that I could let out that would complete this rant, it is an infinite flow, a viscous cycle that will keep going onward and onward until the end time or at least the end of my time. Perhaps I am being angsty and should just suck all of this up. I mean, what is the purpose, there is always a situation that is worse that is occurring so I am being weak by allowing it to effect me in such a way though I suppose writing is so much better than other alternatives that many weaker than myself pursue such as self mutilation or self destruction or the consumption of day time television (the latter being the worst) and I think I just made a comical remark, perhaps that is the first one I have made in this rant though comical is always relative which means that there is still life in me yet or at least by my own measure of relativity there may be but that is not the point the point is that it varied slightly from the normal consistency of this piece of writing if you could say it had a baseline because it is really a train of thought piece without one but that seemed to be a sort of outlier aside from other things. Once again I have lost myself in my own thoughts but that is okay because there is plenty of time for me to find myself again. If I keep writing eventually I will find the path or perhaps I shall drift off into the far realms of insanity beyond any sort of coherency that the average human could recognize. Still it would have some sort of rhythm or algorithm to describe it and would therefore not be beyond some measure of control so really it is simply a different path from the one taken by most when viewing it a dimension outward. Do I even know what I am talking about? I'm just not sure anymore. This ranting would probably scare people, it almost scares me but I think I am fairly numb to it at this point. I am almost in a trance and everything is just flowing without me really being aware of it any longer. I wonder if this is how great authors write their books, in a trance almost unaware of what they are producing or if this is how complete and total crap and garbage is produced. I wonder all these things and I also wonder how much ambiguity I have maintained within my rant thusfar, I think that I wanted to maintain a strong degree of it but I am not sure anymore if I have, not that it matters. Whatever happens will be the events that have occurred and that is a redundant statement if I have ever read one before. I think I shall stop soon and continue later though I may stop letting you know the breaks in the writing all together having it truly take on its blob like nature though through careful study one may be able to determine the breaks through variations in writing. Either way it doesn't matter for I feel that I have vented enough for the moment and that I shall relate more to this computer later on.