Infinity and beyond.

For a moment there, thoughts were almost lost to songs. Or to plain and shallow quick pictures of what would be. But these thoughts were not mere thoughts. These were the kind songs sing about. The kind quick pictures could never imagine.

Like why highs were short-lived. Why they spread through mornings and then faded with each hour of the day. Why they were inconsistent. Why they clung to many people, places, things. Why a third word existed in a definition. Why sometimes tangible did not matter, at times it did. That at the end of the day no conclusion is reached, a word floated in mind with no attachments, almost without meaning.

Or why permanence was hard to achieve. Why permanence depended on comfort or words synonymous. Familiar people with all their warmth and holiday greetings were nice, but somewhere else the sun shone brighter and perhaps reached farther walls. Why distance suddenly confused. Why meanings had to be repeated and spoken to be established when they already were.

Or why mechanism had greater control than decisions. Or memory. Why it might be true that alternative to mechanism was chaos. How it could be that something mot crucial could not surpass the absence of everyday organization. Why this had happened too often. Why place was regarded too much, as if it had life, or was being given so.

I did not perhaps hear clearly. Another so and so.

Drama never strengthened anything. Emphasised, maybe. When you were the third person, you recognised drama. Third person never had a say, never influenced, never mattered. Important, and I say again, important things only existed between two.

I claim a last reset button.

Do words have any purpose other than confusion?
- Dean Koontz, The Face