The Third Act

The narrowing of life in the third act shrinks the outer flesh of supposed reality while emboldening the bones of honesty so that all comes clear as death draws near. The narcotic assumptions about supposed reality gradually wear off, revealing the utter insanity of the human species and the wars created by the underpinnings of wars fully chambered awaiting their waging to tribal flags flapping. How the species cling to definitions through patriotism, religion and neo-materialism (like ordering shit from Amazon), hoarding and consumption, silly tradition and assumption, which assumes so much so utterly, so errantly, and so ridiculously. How human interaction fuels egocentric lofts among even loftier regions out of reach, which intensifies the pangs of the desire that distance us from the beautiful simplicity of salvation. These truths are revealed through observation, intense, longstanding suffering, and the concommittant narrowing in act three. I'm dying most days to leave the god damned theatre because the human performances were inane, empty, and hellishly stupid.