In light of the present pertaining to the dim lighting of the past, I adhere to misconception, the misconception that I know. Meaningless, meaningless, says Solomon under the sun. Then why do I scrape the dirt in toil for a meaning less than what the world may consider great success. What matrix of fluidity can I mold without a defining substance while what I tear over may be my ruin? and will my ruin be any cohesive substance to give birth to solidarity? in what way do I peel the apple in acquiring the potential filled seed? there is a road from point A to point B and I travel it gladly knowing that cheering awaits my hasty accomplishment. but I fear I’ve missed the bus and a detour is necessary for my arrival. have those who have been blessed with bus1 earned more of a right for a happier life? how then should I perceive the present situation I am in while riding bus to? the cheering dies down and the only audible accompaniment is the road, and the only education is the experience. what then should be my correct attitude, for downtrodden is any hope that this way is the way that was meant to be. shall the world see it in my perspective and learn to identify with the earnings of my experience through words, discouragement, people, opportunity? there is a season, a time for everything, a purpose under heaven. what then is the purpose of my ticket? there are numbers written on it and words seemingly like a different language, and a destination I must comply to. how then should I ride? the cheering dies and the only audible sound is the road. and I song I try to remember from my youth.