Serendipity, chance, the illustrious magnificent improbability to our entire lives that engulfs space and time like no other locks can bind. Connection! Love and vacancy with all the freedom and jealousy that it entails and bids to run far away from everything that you thought meant anything to you and to the rest of the world. Hiding from yourself in an incongruent mess of wires, dangling, twisting, rat-nesting your existence into a mess of data. Representations of another self, but who are you? The you that doesn't wear any masks, the you that doesn't need validation from others, but finds inner peace and security from an introverted space that ignores the dichotomy of passivity and voice, of the earnest and the apprehensive. Who is that singer, that actor, the dancer of the moment that rides the wave of existence to the crest of fruitful imagination and bursts into the sonic boom of the eternal omnipotent now. The now. Right here and now. This moment. Forever, now. What are your expectations for the impossible, and who are you looking to for hope? Waves of inconsistency complicate our thoughtless feeling of logic while blibbering blinking ink lights shine their internet-ish light on our primordial existence, and where? What location is it that brings us all together, humanity in a single instant, together, here, now and all by chance, at peace. What is the probability of world peace? Who would know the answer to that kind of question, and when are they going to untangle the cords that bind hate to our hearts like saffron in a silver cinnamon bullet flying through the pie of our hearts and splattering our blood on the hands of our brothers. Colour and race are nothing when you have complete communication, the gallows are then, this is now. This is standing here and, not waiting for a handout, but building a better world, one laundromat chance encounter at a time. Who is to justify every word you say? Impossibly, no one. No one thinks enough about what he says but she does so many things without realising that eternity hangs in the now. The balance of today, which by chance is the yesterday of tomorrow's sorrowful regrets and the tomorrow of yesterday's hopes. Chance is now. I thought I knew myself, and by chance, I did, but then I forgot and I was swayed by the screaming of the crowds that surrounded the arena. In a crowd, where is the introvert who knows herself, but lady luck guides her sailboat down the river of time into the ocean of uncertainty and the torrent of falling rain. Compassion! Reaching out to the other, without thinking of yourself - pay it forward - touching and feeling and entering another's life. That is now. They say seize the day, but that's too easy.