Deciphering the Point

                         Image credit: 8Tracks

There are none or any single one or endless possible permutations on the theme.  You’re no more than a conglomeration of cellular muck, mucking around in a maze of virtual reality created from your supposed connection to some source feed that may or may not exist.  Spat out to continue impregnation. 
Your sole purpose, to spit on as many seeds as possible to keep the splatter spinning on and on and on.  Unless you’re infertile or just can’t stand the sight sound and smell of teeny weeny patter splatters, then you’re very best, very short and ultimately brief existence will be hijacked by throbbing pulsating chemicals, specifically designed and targeted to keep the show on the road to what knows where. 
Your other main points of focus are endless, taken up by your highly evolved wiring. Specifically thrown in there so you can search the shit out of every pleasurable, decadent, deplorable, demented, fantastical, mythical and unbelievable avenue, road and crevice, in searching the point of it all.

Or there is a singular, absolute, directive, definitive, designated, pinpointed line to the point.  You’re supposed to shit storm the holy crap from inside out and all about your tenuous reign.  Tenaciously going at it, plunging, purging, pulverizing and polishing the blunt butt of brutal unknowing into a diamond pointed spike of knowledgeable knowing.  For you, your singular point has been reached, if that’s how far you choose to go.

Or the mathematics of infinity are beyond the capacity of our level of understanding, our place in the scheme, our position in the spectrum of sensory expansion.
We are no doubt a mixed up lot, physically and emotionally.  Still screaming at shadows, jumping with fear. 
​It’s as if we are losing ourselves in the search for meaning.  When the point behind the meaning of it all, is finding ourselves by simply not searching.