AVividVenture

An arid landscape, a moment of clarity, an awakening of the soul, a grounding to reality..   Body snatchers, hit men, witches and warlocks, best friends snitching and backstabbing, crimes of passion. Escape artists, con artists, gangsters and jailbirds; predators, pedophiles, scumbags and crazy gold diggers. A house of hidden enemies circling the outskirts. The leftover of a once flourishing society, now all wrapped up in one. A competing, stealing, stalking and killing disaster. Losing more of themselves to the point where there are only shadows of them left, walking skeletons they are completely on evil pilot. Selfish and proud, unruly and loud; dry and lacking proper nourishment. Everything to ramp up the game; kick-start the survival instincts for gain, greed and fame!  Only a few could escape the cruelty and devastation. The weak and innocent has become easy prey, the spoil of the day. Villains verses villains, villains versus heroes.   Long have the days been, crawling, running, hiding and fighting. Making ends meet and coming up with irrational reasons and imaginary stories to make sense of this brutality. Wondering, dreaming and seeing visions of past memories mixed up with Déjà vu and the mirage over the dunes that are only disappointment in disguise. Some bask in riches and glory, all have nothing left but an unbalanced, unsustainable excuse of a hell pit, feeling sorry. All around me there are scorpions ready to sting like they have nothing better to do, pride-fully basking in the hot sun looking fierce! Vicious snakes hiding, perfectly camouflaged against the desert backdrop, waiting for someone to step into their carefully crafted snares. Dangerous, apocalyptic, Serious-Sam territory riddled with landmines and active bomb shells. Everything so quiet, but yet hot with temper and age, volatile at the least.  Over the years I might have miss-stepped and ran into expensive lessons that taught me to navigate this wretched earth, sneaking quietly from shadow to shadow, hiding, surviving and thriving of the bareness it has to offer. Like a modern-day Kalahari-bushman ninja, I’m skilled at reading the signs and picking up on impending danger. Only this time it came in the sense of a bad smelling omen.   A fowl stench of death blasts through the air like a parabolic whirlwind whipping up a storm ready to devour at any moment and comes to a standstill in the form of an awkward looking Tasmanian Devil. A vicious, ravenous brute with powerful jaws like a steel trap. I would have never imagined! But there it was, like the sands of time has destined it, just waiting for this one swerving maniac with a nothing to lose and crazy as hell attitude to set everything right off into oblivion! Never have I seen something so deluded, off balance and reckless as this creature. Fully self-absorbed with ego and ignorance, it was a nightmare to behold! It looked like it triggered every single bomb, scorpion, snake and landmine on its way to this kill zone. Unhinged, unravelled, this cursed monster brings an atmosphere of the paranormal as it darts from place to place ballistic-ally confused like a tumbleweed in rough August winds.    In the coolness of sunset, I could see this wannabe simpleton, parading helter-skelter, looking for unjustifiable revenge about imaginary beef. Mocking every other creature and laughing until it got so bit or stung that it moved on. Disappearing into thin air and reappearing, setting off all kinds of chaos. Instantly I knew that this little dust devil, looking sad, confused and bewildered, is going to set the whole place crashing and burning with all consuming rage and evil hatred. Weird creatures and abnormal people pass through these parts, few survive it. Like the "Hunger Games" it is the survival of the fittest; only the toughest, bravest, more intellectual or luckiest make it through. One thing I’ve learned is you can’t be angry at a snake for biting you, cause it’s a snake, it’s in its nature to bite. Even though it sheds its skin, it doesn’t help showing love to a snake. Especially unconditionally! The same goes for this “dust devil” poisoned and fuelled up with snake bites and scorpion stings.     I’ve seen the wildest acting out of love and the loveliest acting out of hate. It all comes down to observing the fruits of their actions. The intentions of their heart. The unforeseen circumstances. You would probably never know who someone truly is unless they go through the fire and if they show you, believe them. In this war-torn world, even the timid heart becomes brave. The hungry becomes fierce. The once so kind and loving turns insane. In a life and death situation all else fades, tunnel vision occurs, adrenaline takes the reins and fight or flight response runs its course. It’s a dam shame, a fearful fate, a darkness lingering, an angel at the gate.    As darkness falls, everything goes underground, settling in for the long night in hope not to fall prey to the nocturnal that comes alive. One creature in particular always pricked my interest because of the philosophical aspect it possesses. Hair dangling down, red eyes glowing sketchily in the gloominess. A slum scum rat of a slick scammer, a thief wearing many disguises of personalities, influences and authorities, whatever is needed in any situation. Whoever it crosses paths with, it has all the deceptions trained, the illusions strategically mastered with no sense of remorse or pity, the perfect poker face. Copying people like a doppelganger.    I was following my normal routine of navigating the tunnels when I saw it. Looking like a filthy mop wearing gangster glasses. I instantly knew it was on its way to the pool bar where most of the deals were made and gambling went down. It mirrors its intended victims perfectly, love bombing its way through any crowd, like a people pleasing pimp that does anything and goes anywhere to get a coin, a slice of the cake, a glitter of gold. Like a possessed bloodsucking vampire, it only looked at what it could gain. A workaholic, a con artist, superficially faking every move, every second of the day.   As it sneaked slowly, listening carefully and continuing on, suddenly there was a super loud noise of thunder that reverberated everywhere! The rabid rat jumped straight up out of fright and hit the ceiling above, crashing on the floor with a knocking sound. Its fake facade flew off with the glasses, twitching, turning and changing colour and expressions, crying and then laughing, a total motion picture played out in a few seconds. Devastated by the sudden disruption of pure silence and loud thoughts, this once big bold gangster/pimp turned into a small insecure mouse right in front of me. Like an in-their-feelings narcissist that is struggling with their sexuality. Faking it so long they don’t know what is real anymore, recycling happy and sad.    It was that crazy Tasmanian devil still roaming the upper world in the dark unafraid and somehow got one of em bombs to go off! The repercussion unknown, the whole valley awakened, upset and in uproar. The whole underworld of maniacs and mobsters have become criminals on the run, assassins ready to assassinate, hit men ready to hit, mobsters ready to mob and gangsters ready to gang. Tunnels started filling up like a traffic jam of the mentally insane. Running into each other, over each other, to get in front and hide behind. Everybody suspecting everybody, all looking suspect. Pounding hearts and raging thoughts, overreacting and under investigation. Chaos exploding as secrets start bleeding after the initial backstabbing, biting and stinging. Too much fighting and brawling got the whole underworld lit up!    I have taken the now glitching little mouse to its crib and went up to the outside to have a look. A natural disaster, a final destination was filling my mind as I looked onto that Tasmanian devil standing proudly in its blown-up ego, breast out like a puffer fish. Shrapnel lying everywhere and in the middle of the valley a huge hole to where all the tunnels connect to the underworld. This hair spiking Tasmanian devil was looking right into the crater at the crowds and crews below looking up. It was a scene to behold, standing arms folded and legs stretched, looking berserk! A tornado of fire, dust and brimstone rained over the valley above in an array of greys, yellows and reds; horror and devastation reining in the atmosphere.   In that moment it all went haywire! Narcissists collapsing left and right, fears and curses yelled out boomeranging back to the senders. Masks dropping and personalities falling into disorder. “The enemy of my enemy is my best friend.“ Everybody switching sides, alliances redrawn and reevaluated under extreme scrutiny. Malice revisited from past timelines and brought right back to the present. All protesting at once! Fiery discussions erupting and dying out into exhaustion. By this time the Tasmanian devil has disappeared in the dark of the dying flames and was nowhere to be seen as it vanished in the smoke leaving a blood moon hanging.    I went back to the rat’s crib to see if it has survived the shock. The whole one wall was lined with personality badges of powers and authorities, trophies of the victims it has conquered, displaying notoriously as any king pin’s wall would. It was truly reigning the underworld of filth and disgustingly proud of it. Like a super inflated egotistical, forceful and parasitic dementor, it believed that being evil is being all powerful. All kinds of conspiratorial plans and blueprints of traps and trickery, illusions and flattery were decorating the tables. The kitchen stacked with every potion of love, glamour and beauty, black magic and dark arts. Up until now it has dominated the public scene with fake personas and brilliant acting, noble exteriors and echoing others’ smart sayings all for clout and numbers, ego and validation. But now when I saw it again, I knew it was scarred forever. It has been mimicking other’s personalities for so long that it couldn’t remember how to be itself anymore. Walking up and down, the rat was equally cruel and evil, voicing disgust and revenge at that Tasmanian devil that rained on it’s beautiful (pretending to be) “Big Boss” parade. Staring an ego death in the face, a dark night of the soul. A labyrinth with no way out.    A big-ass pot was brewing and stirring a ball of chaos in the ether. Enigmatic whispers turned into suspicion which in turn produced questions catching on like wildfire, like a storm breaking its levee. Faces started rotting under their masks, an avalanche of exposure and infamy with no end. The whole society so drenched with evil deeds there could be no justice. Even the judges are part of this never-ending pyramid of bribes and schemes, fallacy and fraud, murder and maliciousness. Inevitable and only a matter of time, the whole house of cards was beginning to fall, and nobody wants to take the blame for it. Everything is fake from the inside out, from the foundation up, the whole empire has become a nest of malignant, uncanny, bamboozled swindlers. Something’s got to give and everyone is on edge, off the chain and in their thoughts. Their own greed got them stabbed into “Loserville", like fragile eagles they are lost and confused, trying to maintain any dignity they’ve got left, looking like a bunch of alley cats thrown into cold water! Pushing the envelope to where the entire illusion trembles, everybody has lost their appetite for playing games. Everyone accept than crazy Tasmanian devil who feels like it has finally found its true purpose, feeling alive and exhilarated at the prospect of finding this new goldmine of playmates hiding in the shadows below. Remembering being sold out multiple times, it recalls smelling roses and enjoying life until all went to shit and society lost its flavour. Being thrown into a lifelong MK Ultra program, abused and neglected, crushed and crumbled. A scattered personality, a jail cell, abandoned and rejected, being a slave to these low sadistic bottom feeders. It was dragged through hell and back to a point of losing all forms of fear and pain. It finally escaped and went on the run, going on a rampage to break and brawl.      Loud, pounding explosions have become the norm, as did ugly skeletons dropping out of every closet crackling and crashing on the floor. Talking mad smack cause they’re all embarrassed. It's like they are a bunch of bullies in a school yard acting catty and making fun of somebody who’s legit with good qualities, competing in secret. Proven wrong, teeth grinding, they act out of a defence mechanism to hide their own inadequacies in an attempt to feel better about themselves. Not fighting fair, stealing and then attacking, further victimizing the victim and hiding it all under harsh criticism, running their mouths. Being super obsessed about the person they do all this to, trying to control the narrative, wanting everybody to think badly about this person so no one ever figures out that they stole their entire life. Being fuelled by jealousy and envy, trying to destroy the individual, things getting way out of hand and what started with jokes to humiliate ended up in attempts to murder. Desperate to try to keep up the charade, they start projecting, everyone trying to be the most boisterous in the room to cause illusion and distraction, mean with everyone around them. Driven by their own evil greedy betrayals.    Not being emotionally regulated themselves to be grounded and responsible enough to keep up with juggling their life of lies. Just to see their plans failing and everything falling apart, a “Leaning Tower of Pisa” finally cracking and crumbling quicker than they can put it together. Lifetimes of karma finally catching up with them, wolves howling at the moon trying to fight the moonlight, the invisible forces balancing the scales. Broke and busted pirates that have mountains of hidden gold, but they can’t touch it nor flaunt it publicly, nor live extravagant lives anymore. Sadness kicking in, everything falling to pieces, confused and having an emotional out pour, caught between a rock and a hard place. They got tricked themselves by trying to trick someone else out of their happiness. Playing the lines of boosting their pride and hiding the truth from being exposed. Keeping their victim at rock bottom and in Stockholm syndrome while copying and gang stalking them. Fabricating story lines to destroy their image and character while losing control over backstabbing and being back stabbed. Disgracing and exposing themselves in a derogatory manner. All burnt out in the end.    Flabbergasted at how things turned upside down, everybody is still left clueless about what happened. A shock to the system, they are mad! Refusing to cut their losses having put too much time, effort and resources into building this grand scheme. Like not removing your stock when the stock market is crashing or a poker player doing that one final round and losing it all, pride and ego is on the edge of collapse and they’re feeling stuck, numb and dumbfounded. Feeling like they have nothing to lose and consumed with their hatred and evil agendas. Using all their time and energy every day all day to be a tyrant, a headache to somebody else, operating in devilish energy. There is no use for them on this earth, not creating or doing something other than spreading negativity, stealing, killing and destroying the livelihoods of others in order to enrich themselves. A virus eating the host from the inside out. In the end nobody wins, cause the virus will die with the host.   Crabs in a bucket that conjured up all types of chaos for themselves. Having trouble adapting, contemptuous, disturbed and dismissive, they are stubborn with dark hearts. Living in a fog of illusion, trying to delay what they are denying in lunacy. In dire straits, they can’t stop the wheel from turning. They were living in an illusion by confirming one another, but that illusion is no more. The puppeteer's strings cut. What blinded their judgment, gone; what emboldened their slander, silenced; what fuelled their obsession with destruction, cast out. Forced to face the reality they tried so hard to hide. They must face themselves, staring at the abyss of who they are, feeling shame and regret. Smiles falling off like a cloak of disguise. A bunch of ostriches trying to stick their heads in the sand. Like being trapped in a trap house, dead in the water, hazards on and needing some milk. They are self-medicating their misery, scratching their heads and looking dumb, reaping the grim reaper one by one.   The cunning rat was pondering to find questions to hidden answers and answers to hidden questions. Going as far back as it could remember, all to figure out who it was, who it was supposed to be and look like. Circling and swirling the emptiness it feels inside, stuck in intense cycles of fantasy and reality, childhood wounds and a twisted subconsciousness. Trying to find balance and clarity in seeing itself and all the happenings for what they really are. What if the imaginary was real or the real was imagined? Triggered to run, but the wheels of this car is spinning itself deeper into the mud, acknowledging the self-sabotage. Concluding that should this continue on its course it would be taken out with its evil, greedy pride, that lustful, envious demon that have driven it to heights of unjust glory. Wondering if it could let go of this feud between it and this new sheriff in town, cause no false narrative, plot, scheme or potion is working this time around, it’s a wrap and time’s run out.   The game has changed from how well one can deceive to what one can actually mean to society in a positive way. It is a hard thing to accept the truth for what it is. There is no more hiding, only evolving, unlearning and learning. Being meaningful and useful, what purpose does somebody serve? The world goes around and everybody’s got a part to play. Adapt and survive or refuse and die. Finding the light means letting go of the dark. Letting go of pride means facing insecurity. Quit while you’re ahead benefits you more than proceeding with a bigger loss. There is hidden potential of doing something different and coming out. It’s an in between, a valley of decision, considering the consequences verses letting the Tasmanian devil win. A limbo, consumed with pride, but not being able to manipulate the situation anymore.   Moving into uncharted territory, a warped sense of perception was grabbing hold of the familiar. Seconds felt like days and days felt like years with all the changes and shifts happening all over the underworld. New tunnels were formed and created as all became exposed and destroyed with the ongoing disruption from above. The Tasmanian Devil, forged in the fire of chaos, now knowing it was hoodwinked, was on a mission to find those familiar faces of those low sadistic vultures it saw that night the first bomb went off. Memories returning every passing day, blood boiling, making its hair spike even more, releasing a thunderstorm of unheard ramifications.   Conflicted, schizophrenic fools pouting like scissor sisters running rampant, bitches and hoes exceeding bat shit crazy! Violent cat fights over red lipstick stains, love spells and pregnancy scares releasing all kinds of dirt and blackmail going bombastically viral. Evolving into a clown show wreaking havoc, the community talking, rumours flying in circles catching up with circling evidence spreading far and wide! A mix of drugs, alcohol, jealousy and envy, fake friends and secret haters all telling on each other. Drugs wearing off and tired of the drama, twitching, detectives making deals left and right. Caught in a web of lies, all bets are off as they throw in the towel, backing out and cutting their losses.   A triangle of dirty, toxic addicts; musty, dusty and crusty; drinking it up, smelling funny, wandering around in drunk slumber, losing their way. Writing checks their asses cannot cash while situations are popping up in flames, exploding loud! Still trying to possess the essence of being the best but rolling in the soot of their own emotional imbalance, avoiding accountability. Instead of working on themselves, their own problems, on why they make the decisions that put them in these situations, they are bound to negativity and entities, shell shocked into a mental health crisis. Unable to accept defeat, they are stuck on a karmic Ferris wheel looking like convoluted brain matter struggling with impostor syndrome. Still competing with the ever healing, remembering, expanding and hair-spiking Tasmanian Devil, wasting time fighting the inevitable, chasing a death wish.   Dreaming of success but losing all their luck and being hit with unexpected crap where it hurts, a loss of power, money, arguments; racking up problems and disappointment; they are losing everything. Chickens with their heads cut off, never taking the time to realize who they are or where they’re heading. Ruined reputation, a total public display of drama, they don’t want to hear it! Living double lives, cheaters, make up to break up, not learning their lessons. Maladaptive daydreaming causing disillusionment, trying to win at all costs in a game that is already over and finished. Having scattered energy and avoiding intimacy, they are shallow with deep seated trauma, using sex to hide their pain. A Bailiff chasing them for unpaid gain, failure and low self-esteem, greed, discord, waste and poverty, losing their stolen loot.   Credits showing up after the movie, waiting for extras, but the movie is played out. Haunted by visions of deceit, betrayal & treachery, spirits inhabiting nightmares selling pipe dreams. Deserted by monkeys and goons, mutiny reigning the atmosphere; the retaliation got so bad they ended up losing it all the way, jumping ship. Once it was funny to them and they couldn’t care less dishing it out, laughing, but now the party is brought to a screeching halt, a shattered reality. Pretending to run away naked and unafraid, trash taking itself out, the real deal in reverse. Fake is all they have, puffin it away, gas lighting themselves, broken mirrors. Facing a dilemma of backfires opening Pandora's box, knowing too well they fucked up real bad this time around!    Deep underground, the rat, gambling past enjoyment, was stepping through the curved hatch entering its ultra secretive bunker. A forgotten lung, the air cold and still, smelling like mold and mildew; tastes of iron and oil, the ghosts of the Scurvy Sea lingering. A submarine was lit up by ancient bulbs exposing the dust motes disturbed for the first time in years, dancing in the beam of the light, catching the dull glint of riveted steel walls. Stacked with all kinds of survival items, tools, medic kits, liquor distilled from tunnel fungi and old sealed rat packs. An extended periscope and speaking tubes going all the way up and poking above the desert’s surface and extending to the bar for surveillance purposes. Dead silence except for a single drop of water from the ceiling, a repetitive, relentless dripping creating a metronome of madness, slowly eroding focus and sanity, breaking the mind. The only sensory input forcing total focus on the irritation. A herald of failure, the womb has been compromised into a leaking tomb, echoing plink, plink, plink.   A flaming camo candle, in full military uniform, a calculated trained sniper spying attentively; trying to find the perfect shot to hit accurately. The rat was looking for the exact string to play on the Tasmanian Devil’s self-esteem. A seasoned soldier mechanically rehearsing the perfect actor’s performance; polished moves, reactions and script. An illusion of intimacy as a weapon for control, a strategy, a masterful trap, the most cynical and manipulative behavioural pattern. An energy vampire trying to hide what lies beneath, covered by the perfect crafted persona. Now tainted, lacking an orbit of attention, a vast network of approval, emotional and communication thread streams for constant validation and fuel. The forbidden inner fortress of childhood experiences and vulnerabilities surfacing. The absence of emotional barriers that should exist at the start of any healthy relationship reverberating.   Fed up, provoked, triggered, burdened and emotional, the rat was overthinking in dripping silence. Truth is foundational for either judgment or mercy. It reveals the reality of one’s actions, the intentions and the consequences, the potential for change and the possibility for compassion. In absolute pure frustration, it wants to release the suppressed emotions, make amends and apologize, restore fairness, lay all the cards on the table, but fears the justice. Truth, honesty, admitting wrongdoing, showing remorse and taking responsibility is the only path that can lead to mercy. But if the truth itself is overwhelmingly damning, admitting it will simply admit guilt and lead to the full weight of the sentence. It’s a fight through judgement to get to mercy, to maintain integrity. The truth can also blow everything to smithereens! Knowing the Tasmanian Devil is awakened to the mayhem and fired up with the poison of many snakes and scorpions, its head was filled with all it has done to the creature like it was yesterday, wishing it could turn back time, cause coming clean before you get caught is less damning.    The rat hollered through the speaking tube, calling in “The Quilt”, the most ferocious secret sewists, “The Hyenas United Group”, known for their bugaboo scare tactics, shady and spiteful as hell, phony tricksters, illusionists, “fallen stars of the foul order”, a fairy tale of bad news! Being inspired with the worst plan ever to delay that awful dust devil (who has become immune to pettiness in the “dungeon of doom”). They sent it a lazy spell which back fired awe fully having em looking spooked with jaws dropped and crawling in slow mo all over the bar’s floor, unable to lift a finger. Testing it first, then jumping into an ice-cold pool of water, engulfing in the fears of the fierceness of the coming shock they went all in without knowing the tea, taking the ultimate risk naively. Comeuppance, a total backlash bringing on psychosis and health issues from a mix of a wide variety of all kinds of mind control enchantments, black magic and freezing spells.   A contemptuous usurper with a predicament; the hunter has become the hunted. The seasoned rat is foiled, now heading into a never-ending rabbit hole. Working with no reward, stuck in a muck, failed attempts, double takes, digging itself deeper into a problem it can’t get out of, having a bruised ego, but can’t stop because of it, another point of immaturity. The definition of insanity, can’t quit, the show must go on in its going nowhere slowly boat. The rat spying through the periscope looking at the brave Tasmanian Devil roaming around fearlessly, a loose cannon shootin about like it’s in a lucid dream! Thinking there is alternative motives, the rat twist scenarios to fit a painted narrative, projecting its mindset of calculating and making insidious plans, being a sneaky thief, proving its own wicked mind. Taking things way out of context, living in a glass house throwing stones, gauging, creeping. Passing on nasty dark sayings about its nemesis to its crew at the bar now lagging in benign fasciculation syndrome.   Malice! A foreboding of a horror movie. A massive curve ball of trolls up shit creek without a paddle. Wanting to steal its essence and life force, star energy, it’s whole destiny; to suck it dry. Celebrating its death prematurely, partying it away maliciously. Disgusting sex magic and love spells bouncing back onto themselves, turning a super obsession into a sick infatuation rocking the boat wildly creating waves for the whole society. Unable to control, handle, bind or get the dust devil in check; shining a light on all they are doing. Read to filth and added insult to injury, the Tasmanian Devil can’t be duplicated in style or energy being its true authentic self kicking up dust in their faces. Infuriating them tremendously, hating themselves even more, being possessed and soulless, not knowing how to love. All they know is to create endings, living off of other’s energy and resources, stealing and killing; they are so dry, heartless, not having connection with Source any more they have lost their shine. Groping in the dark like clueless zombies they are destined to fall into the holes they dug, the traps they set.   A Hobbesian Nightmare of stranger things, walking red flags opening up a can of whip-ass, their ass is grass! Overcommitted to something they cannot deliver, kids that cannot get their candy having emotional reactive spaz attacks. Whimsical dodo birds, a gaggle of bitches, a herd of whores, karmic partners and fallen flames keeping scores. Floozy, flimsy, hoe-bag dick witches that just hit puberty and don’t know how to control their hormones, getting the whoop lash in sores. Shiesty criminal assholes, a hellfire club on the highway to hell and all hell is breaking loose. Paranormal and medieval consequences up in this bitch! Dying suns! Towers falling and walls crumbling in, burying everyone inside. Shit is getting messy, all that remains is temper tantrums, arguments, conflicts, kicking and screaming, all pissed off with outbursts and meltdowns! Awkward reptile dysfunction, manic depression, loose psychosis and insane in the membrane ridiculous sinister images. Predatory exhaustion frequency warnings of danger approaching with deadlines coming up fast! Utter chaos leaving a trial of mayhem in the way, upheaval, disaster, downfall and fallout. Cancerous parasites shriveling under chemotherapy, shady leeches withering under intense raging pressure.   A scandalous sexcapade hellscape of energy sucking blackholes stuck in the upside-down dissolving into darkness. A dark psycho thriller of biochemical ghosts and obsolete entities starving in a hall of mirrors endlessly chasing a reflection they can never hold. Far below the underworld, deeper than tunnels or tombs, the roots of mountains or the memories of men. In between the groans of tectonic plates, the whispers of magma turning into ash, the silence between the heartbeats of the damned. Darkness parted to reveal an even darker shape rising through solid rock like smoke through air. A hood drawn over the absence of a face with a gravity that pulls at the soul itself, a scythe with unknown geometry extracting all shadows into it. The air thickened and time itself slowed to a halt to match the patience of something that has never been late or would never arrive early, because time was just one thing it harvests. A conclusion, a transition, a transformation of death and rebirth, a cycle of life and death, the balancing of the scales, the reckoning of fates. .. . to be continued