I stood awake as the sun pierced through the smoke. I focused to see, sulfur burned my eyes. I tried to hear the cat calls and the rantings of men murmuring into nonsense across the screen. There were doors marked by the insanity of those before us. From these I must choose?\
What compels me? Nothing! Like loneliness it morphs into what madness my imagination takes it for. There are no good doors and no bad doors only the doors I perceive as bad or good. Then, perhaps there is the non-sequential door of all doors.
It maybe, that, that behind the door is what you think is behind the door, is neither what is there or what you can possibly imagine, but perhaps something so extraordinary, that even when presented to you, is completely unrecognizable and therefore does not exist.
It may also be, that when life becomes so inconsequential, that no matter what you do if there is no goal, then no matter what ever happens, nothing is noteworthy. Just a happening like any other.