What an odd place a comparative few find. When, from the tireless chattering about us, a sea of seeming imperatives (why?), we, suddenly, find ourselves standing on a strip of land where the sea, for a moment, has held its breath and receded. We face, quietly, the scene about us. The automated parts, the floating cogs that make up a consuming listlessness, we face it; we have seen what is, and it is not as it should be, and we cannot, in good conscience (or in any capacity at all, at this point), return to what was and live as if it were standard and acceptable fare, as if we'd never seen what the banal cacophony hides beneath its frothing tips. The tide recedes for few; where the world is glimpsed and the things in it are forgotten, and what lies before is being affording itself.