Spurred into life as a thread of silver or even white fabric, the string is at its very essence a thread. It makes of itself a soft, and luminous fiber fit for its application and essence for both plebian and bourgeois. It is a luxury for the rich and poor.
But string exists as more than a silvery white thread spewed by spiders when condensed its form is revealed as a ball of yarn. Of which its form and essence is now that of a boldly colored conglomeration of string pieces now called yarn. Yarn born out of the soft fibers of a string is of a simpleton nature that of a calk-walk and at the same bourgeois for its usage in simple yet cultured entertainment. But how so?
At its fundamental nature string is a continuous interlocking formation of many fibers at first stretching out thinly in a sharp line but with crafting compressing into a dense concussion of fibers. Despite its simple design and its simpler use, string gadgets which man covets and confesses his loneliness, his lack of self-determination prove its worth. While underestimated by the plain apathy and rot of the mind, the string remains flexible and ready for use by the creative minds of humanity's youth for it could be skewed into countless actualizations. As a bear, a panda, a giraffe, a car, the neighbor's kid, a plant, or even a dragon! It is its form which is boundless yet it is confined to bounds as it is nothing more than a simple yet flexible nature that allows many forms but never the mystical form of yourself walking into the future past all metropolitan vices.
The string at the end of the day is a form more tangible than zeroes and ones that would appear to illustrate the dimly lit screen of an odd black rectangular box cased in inorganic fibers as at the end of the day you can shape it just as you can to set your own destiny. To feel the soft imperfections and perfections of the thread as you bring yourself into a boundless intersection in your world. Its soft yet rough nature which becomes apparent when touching the conglomeration shows weakness alone but strength in scale. But it is for its simple form that could be brought anywhere and everywhere, even into the virtual realms to which man finds himself lost in pleasure and plain, that I would choose to bring string where I go.
Even if to believe that life was unfulfilling, a curse that would never even and forever continue. A fate of damnation fated to forever repeat waking in the morning as a failure of physical and mental maintenance doomed to scroll the manufactured feeds created by algorithms of a gray faceless system, forced to wear a white mask with a black smile upon it, to act as if life in the world of wonderland, the fate of metropolitan man was to be an eternal serf he would still play with the string even if it were to fidget past the pain and boredom. He had power of his own.
Beyond delusions of wonderland which forever constrained him, of that accursed realm of his dimly light box was the truth of the world which lay beyond shrouded in mystery for the affliction of the world made sanity a disease. To live for something greater than the ego, to live for an eternal cause worth forever uplifting and standing for was an alien world completely foreign to the wonderland of hedonistic consumption and recreation. To live in a matrix without living a true life, finding true love or true pleasure, or the meaning of one's place in the world while forever enslaved to the gray faces of exaggeration, dramatization, and ego override, life outside the lie is forever a hell yet a grand mystery to never be unveiled. as it was beyond that wonderland that your fate is that of string: free and untainted.
