The reality is that there is none. Sebastian will look for order and direction from the speculation in other's supposed realities. He thinks perhaps there is something to consider, something to link into a reality. But these are constructions and will crumble. But these must suffice for some time and poor soul, he may even find solace- dare we say it, confirmation, of his own shadowed understanding within them... these are easily drained of meaning. Illogical pursuits soon fade. Beginning with creations from minds that travel speedily beyond his, he follows them, he is thirsty; the old metaphor remains. And so, they are not of his own doing for most unfortunates this is the solid truth. The well is not there for a sweet drink, nor the distant shaded pool an attainable refuge. Merely to cling to anything that passes, behaving parasitically, he is not one who is unaware of this nature, or switched off to it; he knows it like a curse. Perhaps this makes for a more unfortunate soul. Those who do not detect this misery or look away from it foolishly are pitiful. Yet it is equally foolhardy to stare at the sun. The allure is often too strong, it will not let him alone and as it pulls at him it hides his demise as a puzzle maintains it trick upon those who most yearn to solve it. All choice was but illusion. All reality a fabrication of a funny fool. He will continue to seek out fallen crumbs from a more nourishing table, for in this pursuit alone does he regenerate for brief moments, until his true condemnation is made known in all of its jests. When the table is cleared, the poison is always set in its place, ultimately destroying its victim in a deathly surprise. Much like one man head on against many guns, there was never a chance, only doom in the very act of reaching for one.
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