The Painted Nut part one

In light of, or in regard to, or concerning the consternation involved in, or surrounding, the collection of a single species endlessly contained, or restricted in free motion indefinitely, the lack of differentiation between thought and opinion that eventually arises from the frustration that coincides with the cornering of individual perceptions with societal and environmental pressure must be contemplated. It is in this confinement where, and when, obsessive thought processes take on an apparent universality and the individual softly recounts the history of histories to himself with a complete reliance on fact and truth that can only be described as futile, delusional, and very supportive. Of course, once this circle of cerebral grace begins its own construction, the question of any outside influence, positive, obliging or otherwise, begins to slide toward the indiscernible and, without intervention, eventually becomes unseen and incomprehensible—a vacancy with an infinitesimal effect in vary degrees of applicable consequence.

This type of snare, of which there is an infinite amount, must be imagined as having no real physical structure. Nothing holds the individual to his cause—he is free to change his mind, switch trains of thought, or depart whenever it occurs to him; and this is the problem: the always nearly-possible occurrence. Nothing other than the regenerative thought-loop of idiosyncratic reality ever occurs to the man in the trap. The ensnared are only a glance away from liberation (though they may only turn their head and find themselves in another equally galling position, movement from one trap to another may facilitate a type of evolution toward an eventual release). It’s as if a reader needs only an instant to look up and be freed from an innocuous novel, a line of rubbishy poetry, or the browbeating of an outmoded and dangerous tract of dogma. But most will and do keep their heads bent and locked in a nodding toward to the day their necks relent and their brains forget to keep the pumps running, neglect to turn on the lights, and allow their braided lifelines to unravel, fray, and molder.