No matter what materials you use to put up your defenses, you are still standing at the edge of a sheer drop. You keep telling yourself the ground is solid – but in your very center you understand with unnerving clarity how shaky it is. We are balanced upon the edge of a blade and, in time, we will all disappear.
Is kismet subject to chaos, or is chaos a servant, bound to some higher plot? I only have a compass for my own road, and that compass tells me to just leap from the precipice and free-fall.
So I guess I may as well drink it, eat it, kill it, feel it, smoke it, trust it, choke it, thrust it, create it, sing it, build it, love it, curse it, shove it, teach it, scratch it, reach it, catch it.