How this work came about is a typical story. As with all stories it had a beginning, a middle and an end. To where those three occurred, I am still unsure, just as I am unsure whether it is finished, or will be, or can. What you will find in Beyond Absolute, I cannot say, but stems ultimately from the imagination of a dreamer, a man whose life and limits have been romanticized for the very artisanship an artist must strive for in order to be considered, at the very least, an artist. What can this mean? That there exists an ideal reader, whom sleeps as well as any, eats as much as any and lives in as similar a way if not intrinsically set as I. For this person no longer represents idealism, the way that I must, and have done so with such rigor, to invent a mechanism for self to foresee. To foresee a future, a final benchmark, with those eyes that reside within my mind. When I ask "What lies beyond Absolute?" My best-loved response was "what tells the truth?" but I have little time for comedy, or tragedy, in that of the absolute that drives heroes to act as villains the good hearted to act with malice, or the indeterminate acts of a God that smites without justification or purposeful causation. Ends without means, life and meaning without logic. Blinded by the insensible absolute, the searing magnanimity of duality, where I have lived an entire lifetime and so must you. Beyond Absolute.