A Crackling

Deep, no deeper, no less deep it should be. The throbbing and thrumming tugs at my every tendon--yet I move not. It should be nothing less--mark that, nothing more--than what it is? Deception is not desirable, yet then it is when through its eyes you seem to peer? And what if this is necessary to go deeper, to break the bark which we knew had use as it was, but has it no other, no better, use? The question on the counter now must be cut, or cut at: What is it to be better? I do not know anymore; I never knew; can I ever know? A threefold bandied crackling. The sound which cannot be ignored, though it is always on the back burner. It cries of something to be had, not anymore what should, but what should be should... I am here led into infinity. Tertiary, quaternary, and whatever other powers--to infinity--of the volition. Is the height of this, the utmost possible for the human race then most admirable? And what would, could, should, this be? Or is it rather an individual endeavor to reach a specific height? Is this then due the utmost admiration and therefore striving?