This paragraphs name is Oocanopterus

I love that we have names for every little thing in Science.  When you think about it, all the tangible things we have are just different arrangements governed by their oscillations and interactions.  But regardless of these things we have names for each size and identifying shape of each and every thing that arises from these interactions. A grain of sand is a grain of sand but many grains of sand is a beach,  how many grains does it take to make a beach?   The key here is "identifying"  We give these collected objects and scenes around us an identity that we can sometimes agree on.  Yet as human beings we seem to identify with everything but ourselves,  because we are the "identifiers"  The Identifier shouldn't identify  himself.  This is where the desire for a god comes in,   we want to be identified by something larger that can explain to us who we are better than we feebly try to do ourselves.  This also gives us a purpose in a way. 

Epilogue to the beginning

(^Latter edit:  warning,  this is drunk speak.) I am plagued with a big question tonight,   or maybe I lied. . . . .  Two big questions tonight.  One of them is as follows:  what summarizes having lived as a middle class citizen in Colorado?  As I have always said before a good question is answered with more questions and in light of that one question that springs to mind is this:  Why would that be a big question?  All that summarizes middle class in America is over priviledged,  overfed,  white trash with a little more value to make us white knick knacks,  the kind you don't throw away but keep in a closet as a dust collecting agent,  these kind of things summarize this existence and you cannot blame anybody for trying to get away from all that.  I am one of many who feels that a plastic society is not the kind we should be placing over our heads,  and don't worry more loosely connected analogies will be abundant in my writing.  But Gah! I want to lose this whiny voice for a little bit. (I realize using onomatopoeia such as "Gah" doesn't help,  and I also realize that neither does pointing out that they are an onomatopoeia does either. And believe me I used spell check on that word.) 

 When did it become such a phenomenon that me saying I want to get out of this place has become a foreign concept to the people around me?  My first guesses are that it happened when all the dreamers such as I left,  and all the realists stayed put.  How silly to call them realists when they limit themselves with realism to the point of where they believe their physical body isn't capable of physical outings because it never has been,  it takes a moronic drive to athletically push oneself,  this is one of life's easiest lessons to learn.  It cannot be done is all I hear.  It all cannot be done,  everything I want cannot be done.  I'm tired of being everyone's pet insane artist,  I want to make them realize that what I do has a lot of weight.  I would rather have a giant impact or none at all and this is a very vital period of my life to decide which one to be.  It seems I avoid the daylight to spill myself out in these ungodly hours because I am afraid to look at myself for who I am,  a naked man too afraid to admit he is the entertainer of the mob.  What is my purpose?  To show people the trees when they are looking for the forest.  Goodnight and goodluck readers not-abroad. Btw this piece was done on a computer for all the assholes that have to know. ^