There are people in this world who care not for what they are compelled to care for. We suspect that they are more numerous than they appear. Muted by the gaudy displays of daily civilization they think thoughts outside of realms that others would ever consider. Daily life is the land of the robot, conditioned by the demands of automated structures. Clock in, clock out, the tyranny of work. Days, years, lives lost to demands compelled by desires which they do not understand.
There are others who, never leaving their homes are hounded by the malaise of inaction – a different kind of purposelessness. In private moments they think and dream of things which transcend the vulgar material around them. They realise that the world inside glitters supremely and in its resplendent form appears more real than the alleged reality outside. Delving into themselves they are not escaping into fantasy as the liars of man tell them but marching into reality.
Mankind built a world around them long before they were born. It is an alien landscape shaped by alien hands. They are of a different species far beyond the comprehension of mankind. Incapable of being subsumed beneath mankind’s stories they see into another reality. They see a world which lurks evermore beneath them and has existed before mankind imagined its’ world and will continue after mankind dies.
Beneath the prefabricated partitions and performance personalities pulsates perfection. A perfection which communicates an order-less order. For some the realisation of a world beyond what is constructed compels moments of terror. A cause which most retreat from, nuzzling once more into narratives of the mind of man. There are others who surge onwards simply because they cannot go back.
They are the ones who see. They are the unterrified.