What do you do when things stop making sense, when the routine is suddenly spotlit with a broken vibe, an inanity that renders even tender moments devoid of love?
When you are Jack's life, and you are a small plastic box with sentimental value.
When, what, and how? Does you merely drink himself back into neutral once again?
Reset the amnesia?
You are afraid to enter the shadows. Not out of fear of what awaits,
but out of fear they will underwhelm you, subtracting yet another possible excitement.
Is there mystery which never ends, is never exhausted because it posses no center?
Even the bottomless pit eventually empties to some other side.
The secret then -- to maintain orbit and never land, bore through to the core.
There lies mystery in only the approach of the other.
On the other side, you're back to start.
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