In a hectic ever-changing world, bits and bobs of old and new intertwine, weaving unfathomable complexities into the fabric of time. Familiarity is vague, forms are simplistic, and fear is rife.

Chiefly organic, as life refuses to be snuffed out, cells reconstruct filling newly created niches. Blueprints of the old, not entirely lost, yet the purpose for which they were constructed escapes memory. Escapes thought. Escapes Grief. For, at a certain point, mourning the lost is moot, especially when one cannot recall what they lost. Though they say sometimes the sky weeps, ashamed of what has befallen the soil, for the universe has yet to forget the sins for which it cursed.

Turbulence, considered evil, unpredictable, harmful. In truth, strife is necessary for prosperity. For there are plants that spread via fire, ecosystems that sustain on blood, and creatures who gorge on upturned Earth. Directly impacted by the threat of another’s survival, life goes on. The end goal refuses succession.

Although the goal itself is rather unclear, lost to time mayhap, or otherwise disregarded. Nevertheless, life persists, and we call that sheer determination the goal. As we can understand existence. We can understand survival. We can understand being alive. And, above all, we are entirely self-centered.

Records exist of previously cataclysmic events. This isn’t new. This isn’t the first time we catastrophically fucked up. We can reason the causes lacked an identical nature, an anchor point, a commonality. Yet, reasoning doesn’t last, logic itself is the crux of existence. The more one tries to prove the omnipresent point of why we are here the more existentialism, division, hatred arises.

So, as simply put as anything else, why bother understanding?