Ext: From a great distance above the earth, we see a man alone on a journey. We, of course, all see the same exact journey differently. Does the way we see the journey define the thing. Not for the man. The cliche will maintain it's about the journey. This is a fabrication. Getting there is the beginning and the end. Of time. Of place. And of the man. The space time continuum has warped and god is one sick and twisted motherfucking beast with a cunt as empty as infinity. I do not remember the getting there. It has never happened. I assume I walk through airports. I assume carrying my one bag. I assume there are flights I board. I assume I smile at the flight attendant, and have a Scotch on the rocks. Johnny Walker Black if they have it. I would never trust the viability of a single Scotch whiskey to an airline. For that, you really need to fly to Scotland. I assume most people would remember the getting there. I have learned how to turn that process off like a switch whose lights illuminate the corners of the graveyard. What I remember is being there. I do not know how I arrived in the vast black labyrinth that is the city of Berlin's memorial to the victims of the holocaust. I do not know how I got to Paris. I do not remember how I found them. They were homeless and their small red protest tents stretched out in a single line that seemed to snake itself beside the Seine like the icon of a reptile swallowing its tail and the story it arrived on. The cops wanted badly to arrest us which is the story of my life. The cops arrived with their clubs and their mace and their tear gas to gas us off the mass Parisian protest objecting to the reality that too many human lives have no place to live upon the planet. I have watched them fuck about a thousand times but I never remember how I get to it. Arrival is only a nightmare of an idea. We all arrived with time as a continuum. Arrived like humanity with a yoke tied around around its neck and bondage is the end of knots and preconditions. The cries and screams o...