Explanations

 There is a lot that is being explained in today's world.

A lot happens. A lot gets built around it. A lot gets explained. Yet when it gets out there it joins an existing mesh of  explanations that are much better structured or articulated, more within reason. Spoken or written by well-minded chaps with tongues more silver than yours or mine.

Yet, the tragedy of the explainer is that his experience becomes an archetype. A container paradigm. Then others come along and fill the gaps, having felt similarly set upon by fate. Until that container does not become holistic, the explanations will continue, until one eventually learns the timeless wisdom behind belief. 

Stephen Dedalus in James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man felt alienated by society and burdened by the choice between the 'guilt' of abstinence and the 'profane joy' of indulgence. He chose the latter. As he was supposed to. As they are all supposed to, encumbered by the sheer intricacies of their explanations. All grounded. Many others then came along and set their own little narratives within the existing container until tragedy itself  became an all-engulfing state, out of the hyper-reality of the page and into the realm of the eventual. Yet the underlying tragedy within tragedy is that not everything can be perfectly explained; its tragic flaw being that it has now stopped taking itself seriously, given gross commodification spawning a vicious cycle of recycling the already explained. 

Long story short: we don't need any more explanations. They have created a brave new world, a world of Orwellian proportions. The order is in chaos. Reality has no centre. The devil is out of the details. 

 I have done a poor job of explaining. 

I know.