The Weave

      'Another intersection to be avoided,' Thread thought.  He had seen the oracles anyways.  Any number of time lapses in the years before, a man with a clear coat, the maze of the boreal white wooded plains.  How many lives before when he lived in the city leaving its world behind believing there were something of a segway and landing into another enigma.  He had moved through his savings and then dealing with another fear.  The feeling that it were wrong to be where he were in life, not like when he had planned to travel, having a lost a free spirit that once existed.  The  feeling that nothing were the same as it once were, and once aspired thoughts that an oracle were somehow revealing itself that mystery yielding a manner of certainties.  He never aspired for the same house, the same family, the same life that he imagined in others.  Only that Thread were leaving impressions behind.  Impressions despite all of him disintegrating in time.  
     'How does one dance in the orbit?'  he had asked himself.  That mystery in its own right, were it by some internal guidance s?  Thread found himself oscillating between the rhythms of this question.  Had the window elapsed, something been off in the relational sense, as if in scrutiny, he would have likened the irrational feeling overwhelming at times, only the timing were so, and then if contrived so much it weren't always right even then.   As if forces in nature were generally more like electro static repulsion and to the contrary other forces attractive in nature hadn't seemed entirely natural here.   And then, he merely skirted by, and the possibilities of intersections seemed lost.
     Threads waking habit dictated by the circumstance that what he were likely to do the day before would exist into the next day, for all unseen pending circumstance in mind, the room were not so much the room and home as it were his thoughts beyond it.  The dawning years before illustrated else in mind where so much a culture seemingly foreign to him in its own right.  Elsewhere and in some other place in time it were entirely different.  For the dawn revealed something of its culture of youth, the interests of others should seem glossary much of the time and without feeling or sense, merely contrived, from a perspective, even if relations themselves should seem attractive, if something of irony hadn't existed at times in him alone to a lesser degree on this point without so much careful realization.  In the way, that at times he disliked planning or oddly found himself moving about choosing with some deliberation neither clear direction for the irrational sense that an expectation should seem to surface even if it should seem the contrary.

    Only the sense of opportunity would revisit him, where the boundary of forces would near so much closer in proximity to a set of likelihoods.  Pathways were changing and by now he felt that he should be deciding things and strangely enough, Thread would find himself taking steps backwards in to the fold, and this in thought presented something of a wisdom, were long sense before the course of trajectory should seem now in the form of a given destination.  Too much fearing the sense of abandon to much else, and that it seems were something practical if not wringing life at times of its mysteriousness.  As to the worlds away, this could have been merely expressed in the course of meters.  Only hours before, before the glowing screen, having believed to understood something else of his locality.  As to the advance of decades, he imagined something more remote having grown in the nature of certainties, or at least an oracle revealing.  As to now less indifference growing in a way to greater in differences, what should exist now would be forgotten and left with other lasting retrospective impressions.  Old cultural cults then fading.  Thread spent an couple hours today simulating a flight to Saturn.