david_prophet

Standing on a precipice of pure math, gazing westward, out over the ocean of reason toward the very edge of knowledge. Across the expanse, a storm roils on the horizon, clouds of black fear lit with jagged-edged flashes of chaos. Pushed before the storm is a single point of brilliant white bobbing precariously on the angry tides. The vessel of hope that carries my future seems too fragile, too alone and forlorn to finish its journey, and far below the sharp rocks of ignorance and intolerance seem only too eager to welcome such a wayward caravel. I watch and am buffeted as the winds assail my perch and I begin to wonder how strong a wind might it take to push me over the edge so that I might fall down and shatter myself into oblivion?