I suppose in the natural maturation of these things that the writing that I have engaged in as a hobby for so long should come to achieve a practical end. Such is the aim of the pragmatist in all their endeavors that no matter how novel they are, eventually they be enveloped in a task servicing the progression of that individual. This alludes subtly and tacitly to the naming of this domain, these are the words, and this is the mind of one, who like so many other in the information age, has been entrapped by the constant skipping from one immediate reward to the next, always avoiding the pain and misery of the alternatives evaluated but not chosen. It is sixty seconds till death, because there is a finite collection of moments until all these decisions, the roads chosen or neglected surface, and end in the most tumultuous and violent of ways, and in the midst of this oncoming storm there will be a tranquility in witnessing the destruction left behind. Now with the mood set and the theme stated so explicitly, let us observe the relentless accumulation of momentum that follows. This is the beginning of the end of something here and now, as for what comes after or the circumstances of this demise, we remain in the dark. Take assurance in feeling the haunting lurking presence of change, as it comes so softly spoken.