The alternate found...
Too easily the steady concourse of time pushes onwards, realisations left unseen and changes absorbed into the greater whole. Each second, minute or hour moving persistently into the next. Only if the movement halts and the scene therefore illuminated, can form be comprehended.
Like a storm, it engulfs. Not born by winds of doubt, instead a joyous rampant deluge of thought. A link to past brethren, an ethos shared and lived. To whom normalcy was a contrary concept. To conform, an evil fought at every juncture with all weapons in their armoury. Bourgeois forces of convention surrounding their ivory tower, and laying siege to the unorthodox souls within.
Solace therefore I find in these echos of long dead kindred, and new call to find others of like. Not in the pages of bygone histories, but in the now, in my own history which I am forging.
