Nongermane

They all sit as they always do, with mildly interested (or disinterested) countenances. I have written about this before, many times before. I feel as if there is nothing new to be said about any of it. However, some nuance inevitably will make itself known, eliciting a kind of flood of visceral imagery and of course, implicit philosophy: likely the middle aged man at the front graying at the temples, a curious smirk implanted on his face directed downwards. His head hangs loosely, bobbing at every induced bus vibration as if attached via a stretched out slinky; or the girl sitting next to me that chews a peppermint gum, hands folded on her lap, head back, eyes closed in a mock meditation; or the man with the ultra-warm tight fitting ski cap and thick parka as if he were being transported to a polar region of the planet for a clandestine exploration of trivial reasoning…as almost all are these micro-archetypes I have hashed and rehashed before and before, quite endlessly without any sort of single purpose.

-For I am only a single voice amongst the many more worthy or profound. Sure, I may be considered being deep, philosophical, thoughtful, intelligent or any number of things more than the confluence of the human race, but one stark aspect of reality that always pervades this ambiance here is that I am really nothing, nothing at all but a whisper in a hurricane’s wind, a fallen and wasted leaf of autumn amidst the forest floor, the tattered remnants of a forgotten empire’s colors…so worry not or take any notice. Move along to bigger and better things and forget this place, for it only is an exercise in ridiculous and pointless futility.