The remission of sin.

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If I could or couldn't it wouldn't matter. It doesn't, it didn't.
There could never be even if there ever was.
With or without, it doesn't matter, I still would never know.

In the beginning the parchman made his way, apropos, he built what would turn into
The most excellent, eternal-- Basically, the ultrasound of life.
The exoskeleton of what is now modern Philosophy.
The idea was simple. And simply put: ingenious. You start with a handful of sand.
When you grip a handful of sand, the granules fall from your grasp.
But, when you hold the granules of sand in your palm, delicately with care,
You never drop a single granule. 
How should we then live we have asked? With what part of our soul do we surrender to the eternal?
And how can we put stock in the living without paying homage to the dead?
Fred Jones wrote a thesis with references to The Divinity of Function. 
He states, "The method by which we order our existence is intrinsic only by
stabelizing our purpose." 
In saying this he dropped a metaphorical bomb on his time. 
We cannot order our lives by paying simple tribute to a god of idealism.
What instead then? We pave paths. We dig the trenches and live in them.
We court catastrophe and see it through it's end. 
We live... You choose. Open hand? or Closed fist?