Through the speculum of indeterminance and self-governing variable notions.

There were, as it was, a cultural "push-me, pull-you" of alternating times of various bits of yelling and generally exhibiting ire, a dissatisfaction, and we observe, it came from the fringes of both sides.

Therefore I infer the middle has purchase, and thusly, that middle of the road, which satisfies none entirely, is the very happiest medium to keep the body eclectic from ripping itself apart.

I was registered in the ICANN Domesday book as perhaps, just a "user", not an exhibitor, per se, not a demonstrator of any particular idea, but holding to one American tradition in its complete entirety though its sometimes threatens to break my jaw: the common good.  Not the Southern Baptist code of social conduct, nor anything from the thinktanks of California universities, but what promotes the common good, and we remember that "life" and "liberty" were enumerated in the founding document quite before, and superscript to the "pursuit of happiness", though today, we try to orient more to the latter than the former, as if to say, not being happy makes life not a jot worthy of living.

What promotes the common good?  We had found an uncomfortable balance on abortion, and then upset that towards one tradition of outright abandon.  Indeed, we discourse from abandon to abandon, from adonai to brandon, from emptiness to the vacuum of silent space.

Between plugging-in racial agendas, social protocols, and un-necessary interventions, we can only note who seems the most profoundly unhappy, and truly, the extremist, the zealot will happily and heartily identify himself or herself.

On the guns, the vary between restriction, lack of restriction, and outright abrandonment of hardwares; so many voices, and so many demanding action of their government, and finally, in the quiet moments, the psychiatric experts trying to find the crux of the matter: reason de'tre, motive, modus, operandum et finis.

I drink a little iced coffee from a paper carton, purchased at a discount store, and I begin to pontificate, but know, its not the "lowest common denominator" nor the "least common denominator" but the middle ground, to happily sit there welcoming a discourse from the universe, welcome the sunshine into my own little Bleakhouse, welcoming a moment of sanity that brings a kind of objective clarity to each argument that might be put forth: indeed, the addict's moment of clarity.