Since life is a perpetual restart, it is necessarily constant oxidation. What-it-is no longer becomes. Sometimes, this is gradually reduced, slowly jammed, oxidized, and then stopped. But sometimes, the breakage occurs, and it is already no longer, in a great crash of indifference since it is now elsewhere.
Our ancestors, those of long ago, had this ability, or ignorance, to accept the Order, the Great Plan. They knew that from destruction arose the construction, that noise was the brother of silence, that death was the military lover of life. The lives of our ancestors did not belong to them, did not even exist.
Obviously, this glorious certainty could not resist erosion either. The vision of the Great Architect was discreetly distorted by the emotions and desires of the strongest. A new order was born, and things became very complicated so that Justice became adulterous, Goodness burst her eyes with impatience and the false prophets lit scandalous fires. Heaven could not last. It was probably the Men who killed it, but it could have been a comet.
Thus, everything oxidizes, especially our bodies. For our souls, we don’t know yet. The answers we found no longer seem to hold water. Rust colors the clams. All times are aging, and those who still adhere to them often become violent or stupidly suicidal.
My own bones are showing signs of fatigue. So I listen to this song, this interior beat, this melody with discordant and beautiful notes. This song does not belong to me, I know neither the source nor the destiny. It doesn’t care about anything. Do you hear it, reader? Do you understand it?