If at first you don't succeed skydiving is not for you.
Lore has it everybody needs a quest. A challenge. A goal. An epic achievement waiting on the other side of the invisible bridge that often needs rocket powered grenade launchers to gain any sense. It if has any sense. If it doesn't make any sense, one can subdue the sense monster into sending some sense from outer space. The sense monster is a very complex being, resistant to most attacks, including fire and stress. Only pure shear force can destroy it's inner structure and rupture it's fragile self-esteem. The then subdued beast can be used to propel sense into any reasonable activity and bridge of knowledge using the vastly known ancestral magic of the common sense. It is a known fact that diamonds are forever until the beholder bows down to the ever-lasting glory of non-existence. And if that didn't sparkle with everyone, the sole soul responsible for the atrocity of the hole in the sole that makes me as useless as a ninja as a retarded dolphin performing brain surgery on a banana is the idea that all that surrounds me is materialism. Material world in a plastic world it's fantastic as it slices and dices until the vices surface and rip open the hopes of a generation.
There is nothing at the end of the rainbow. Rain surrounds the cloud and the science behind thunderbolts is magic. Magic makes and magic breaks the beaks of the falcons that ride to the sky seeking the truth and get struck down by lightning and become crispy strips overburned and overpriced at your local fried chicken depot. The pilots rest in the cockpit where the controls to the heart of the sun were set long ago in a galaxy not so far away, namely ours. It was ours, before the dark times, before the empire of thought that ripped it from our hands and threw it to the dogs of war.
I wish i was a giant. Roaming the plains and the mountains and being able to stroll from peak to peak within a momentary lack of reason. The ups and downs would balance each other and the resulting struggle would reach for the magic rainbows in the sky.
The clock beckons and i reckon the sleeping hours are closing at hand with a claw deep inside my skull. My eyes rush to close, my heart slows and my jaw drops. I need sleep. I crave sleep.
The sundering of the world draws near, but i doubt the end is near. The ending is just an excuse for the rich to get richer and the poor to run away scared and eventually end their lives. The dystopia that engulfs each and every approaching end serves only one goal: delusion and despair. Delusion and despair to help the elite to control the masses even better. Prepare for the worst, democracy is an illusion, time is a prison and materialism is the warden.