mass of gray

Caught up in the middle of outside confusion the man settled on just one single conclusion: that it was his duty to well harmonize the mass of gray tissue stuck behind his eyes. He was not sure whether to take or start fighting the hurled accusations constantly alighting upon his own psyche where they'd never to stick, where they'd never make his emotions get sick. He lifted his eye-sockets up the Goddesses, filled his soul with their love and smelled their tresses then steeled himself forthwith for unending battle – at least till the day when he'd sound his death-rattle. Long was his Happiness, deep his devotion, to spirit and ancestor, Mother and ocean, to Truthfulness and to what he saw as Right, with these things he struggled, though, daytime and night. In time he lost surety and most conviction while making improvements in posture and diction, on some of his words those around him did choke, while laughing straight at him and not at his jokes. This, then, was his destiny, purpose, and lot, to sit alone, silent, unblinking, and not to let the distractions of mortal existence assist in or dampen his steady persistence in search of elusive and shadowy clues that lead to the great and unknowable Wu.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥