Explaining the Last Two Weeks

My obstinance encouraged me to ignore the alarm of my memory. My renewed initiative to define and implement a definition of 'compassion' led me, two years prior, to be consumed by it, but remembrance is always short-lived. So, entranced by the possibility of self-understanding and some other moralistic aims, I split the seal to Pandora's box once more. Peering inside, I found the one thing that even the most dastardly of the world's evils have fled: solitude. It is an abyss so deep, a void so insurmountable that I am unsure that even hope remains. If she does, she is most certainly lost.

That is why I have neglected my responsibility to report to you my experiences here. I have been too overwhelmed by a hyperactive mind triggered to sprint with every (senseless) conflation of observation with empathy--empathy with compassion. With my self-inflated crusade to feel, I have forgotten to express those feelings I have come to know. This was the case until I couldn't take a picture of the moon. It wasn't quite the same, so I had to draw it.

I don't mean to say the picture shown is very good. I used off-brand crayons, if that makes a difference. If it does, then you should know I make it a point not to condemn my pieces to be constrained by the value of their inputs. Rather, I expect my art to be consumed, to be valuable in the message it conveys. I would argue that life, unromantically, is art--in the least it's artistic expression. If that's true, then the value of life isn't in whatever you use to sustain it, but rather the message you sustain with it.

This truism is fundamental to my efforts here. Here, with this post, I take a turn from my previous writing. I do not mean to undermine my past assertions. Instead, I mean to improve them. Comments are always welcome.