Finding fault

When you recognize things, be sure to note if they are of a consistent measurement and whether they have an implicated need to be a foreshadowing doom imprinted upon us all to intervene with our sceptic side or not. Most things, when one becomes accustomed to them, thrives amongst us like vermin on a broken dish platter filled with nonsense of matter and manner. They stick and they lick. Be against your sole judgement, humans have gone through this before. What is sought now, is something of a more acute state. Something to declare war on our senses, and drive us by the showrooms of a world to come. For sale so to speak. Ideas need not sell. It need not tell. It may be unknown to us, their meaning. We must conclude that all things are conclusive. We must free ourselves from that which we have come to know. We must come to know that which will free ourselves. It is too unimportant so to speak. We speak a language deemed necessary and fit for us to keep on keeping it on. We travel to lands unknown, and we call it that way still when we have moved through it once only. By the second time, or over a bran span of time, we have to come to know it as known. Seriously. We need to be able to allow ourselves the freedom to know that we may be incorrect in the nature of things. That our philosophers, theologians, scientists and sociologists have failed us. We must be assured about our uncertainty. Not in the way that was once bespoke by Socrates. No, we must be away from that which we already know, and do not know, and find that which is left to our minds naturally. What will a clear mind of symbolist notions find? Where does man find himself again without the ingrained factors instilled by our species and its history? Many will ask, but not from this series of expressions, but rather in their common day upbringings and ongoings, that the truth is something to find. But I say no! And many will probably also. Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, and we know why, because it is understood. But it may also not be. Our lives have a different scope on all edges and fragments considered and constructed. We must not linger into that which we learn from others, we must live a life in solitude, and express ourselves perhaps even never. We must know our intellects boundaries, and we must salute its beginnings. Our creative sparks must also be considered. Why are we alive? And what has brought about life itself? Are these questions important? Why do we allow ourselves to even allow ourselves? What if we can be without that which we believe we can never be without? Enough squabbling. I do not hold the answers that I seek. That is why I question that which I speak.