Quiet.

This place. This place of depositing fragments of unpolished scraps of consciousness that precipitate upon a canvass of incrueity. Elusive allusion to illusions of life clumsily mentioned, yet not. Frankl. Logotherapy. Quadriplegic. Catalyst for mindful movement through dimensions ill-defined. A time to forge steel in fire and hammer out shapes of utility from this pluripotent blob of possibility. Time to train and bring lucidity through definition, organisation yet detachment. A call to meditate upon the emptiness that is sacred with the tools of cacophony that populate daily existence. A cause to smile. Back...