Just running a between a future and a past, all the while claiming an existentialism which never gels into any kind of stability;

Our so called abode, a biological body all tuned towards its own existence within a very very animal metronomy, a kind of ritual process, circular, aiming at a stability never reached, exhausting itself into holding the pose, the coherence of a nanosecond, immediately replaced by another, faster always faster it seems;

For as this circularity goes on and on, the trench widens as it becomes deeper, easier to roll along walls turning into a tunnel, for as soon as one digs the self deeper and deeper into habits, rituals, beliefs, over that self, those traits close-in, turning the way into a tunnel without issue, the final resting place for the exhausted biology now becoming divided, turning back into that dust, the very same one that body came out to be;

A life, a process, a quest denying access to any question which might arise over the horizon of a one day.