‘Make sense who may.
I switch off.’

Humanity obsessively tortures itself with the bitter truth that human endeavour is pointless and is unable to fathom the mystery of the what and where of its existence.

Every generation feels compelled to enact the same ritualistic questioning, full of distrust, loath to accept that the mystery remains impenetrable to all. Each will try again and fail again. The question remains of who can make sense of it at all?

The only certainty is that 'Time passes. That is all.’