"In ancient times, men ask God "What is my purpose?" No matter our modern technologies, we still cannot answer this question.

And yet, we build higher and higher into the sky.

Was this to be Gerald's fate, caught up in the waters of time?

Estranged it seemed that for two thousand years he'd aspire to such strange towers and symbols, rituals. Haunted ever by brain delights, changes in the system that seemed impatient, lackluster, a strain from the oily undergrowth I wean from Gerald, weary of the lawyering, the postures. There on the sands lay two thousand years of progress, vanishing in only an instant. I lament my stunted youth, and I praise speedy travels to whoever might find it here, washed up on the shore. Taken here I still tread, torn asunder and spilled apart, ages of progress lost to the fiery wants. The fickle changing of a digital millennium, tapping on the window, replayed back for the entertainment of shadows worn watching, and skipping scenes over and over for eternity. As ghosts of under-grown youth, fed up and filled to bursting will morbid curiosities and nameless delights. Doors of dopamine opening and shutting, draping pleasure and north past lonely and unkempt squalor, delicacies of an unwanted treasure forgotten, deprecated, champing down loneliness and consuming want. Here as I sit on my tower, standing on agony, earthen-born, the seven thorns pierce my heart. In my dreams I am repeatedly stabbed and killed. Wet and weary and bleached, dried out here on the sand. In the dark stir noises until a forgotten angel, neglected by a bunch, praises, or pounds, up to God and there commits some unworthy treason. How unbecoming of one born in such a privileged time to feign want for a lack of reason. What a wild ride this life has been, and I will be curious and nudge expectantly at the gates of the underworld as I'm led through the two gates swinging haphazardly, and attempt to maintain composure and tranquility despite my giddy predispositions. So, just as the ogre guards some sacred treasure, so too will I move in the direction of formlessness, namelessness, enveloping the living and the dead in one river. I intend to drift lazily down and let any spare winds take me wherever they will. Needless to say, who cares what the river thinks and the wind wills? For there I go, off to some new adventure, some new enterprise that looks promising at the outset. Things look worse when you peer at them up close, and better promise with peeks over some neighbor's fence or through an old foggy window. The present is not what I imagined in the past. The wind goes where it will, and again I find my self sojourning here, alone and paley loitering. Though the sedge has withered from the lake, and no birds sing.

What can ail the united arms?
What can ail the united arms?
Oh, what can ail the united arms?

Nay! But all things must come to an end someday. For here, we leave Gerald Williams like Morgan from The Walking Dead. Disturbed, certainly, but alive. Alive, very much so.

Will we meet him again?

Probably, our roads will cross again, as he always takes the road less traveled. And so I think it is with you, let your ideas grow and develop, that's how you will thrive. Tomorrow, we will stretch out our arms further, and like Gerald Williams be a light to the darkness of the world around us."
-Ambiguousamphibian
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0kH25zaBYo&list=PLXFIaWk23rSwACpUHg4Z8ecIJLBhfGqoU&index=16