Absolutivity

I know only one absolute truth. That is that I exist in some manner or another. Somehow I am here…

I do however gather that I know some definite truths.  “Definite” being a term defined by the Oxford American Dictionary as “having exact limits.”  These limits are necessities in a universe without order. An infinite amount of chaos can only be comprehended in limits. The dirty little secret nobody likes to mention is that the world is more like the ratio of the circumference of a circle, a seemingly boundless series of digits named after the sixteenth letter of the Greek alphabet, a majestic little bugger called Pi, otherwise known as: 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097494459230781606286208998628034825342117067982148086513282306647093844609550582231725359408128481117450284102701938521105559644622948954930381964428810975665933446128475648233786783165271201909145648566923460348610454326648213393607260249141273724587006606315588174881520920 for starters.
Pi is subsequently defined as a verb meaning “to mix up.” Either of these definitions are fitting descriptions of the universe. The Oxford American Dictionary rounds Pi off to 3.14159. That’s what we have done to our universe we have rounded it off to about a fraction of what it is. Rounding is the most common human trait in history. When the going gets tough the tough get rounding. Brutus rounded off Caesar when his head exploded into a godhead, Truman rounded off Hiroshima with a metaphorical fart from God, and America rounded the hell out of Britain in a little catastrophe called the Revolutionary War.
This is why one of my definite truths is that the universe is anarchy. Anarchy is defined as “a state of disorder or confusion.” Confusion is a malleable disease that can be numbed with limits. A world with limits becomes a world without confusion.
Disorder on the other hand is a different beast. It is the direct opposite of order, a concept defined by Oxford as “a customary or proper sequence.” Now correct me if I’m wrong but I am a citizen of a place where customary and proper are whatever the United States Congress deems according to Article 1, section 8: clause 18 of the United States Constitution. We the people bless this infernal sneeze of Democracy and with hand over our hearts we follow it to the grave. This body of squabbling bureaucrats operates on the same level of chaos as the rest of society and do not decide the natural order of things. Order is a utopian concept capable only in a world where paper cuts are catastrophes and Karl Marx is God. We can create a temporary order, a working plan of action, but no man or group of men can defiantly charge the face of chaos and tame it.
The ratio of the circumference of a circle has no order and as far as anyone can tell neither does anything else. Infinity is blasted into the face of humanity with such ferocity that limits must be built like the tower of Babel only to be torn asunder like the wooden blocks of Jenga. As more and more pieces of the puzzle become unlocked and more and more bricks are pushed cautiously from their resting place the closer we come to crashing down. So limits might eliminate confusion but I will be damned before I say the world has any sort of order. Disorder is a presence that looms like the raven. Of disorder in the universe I say to thee: “This it is and nothing more.” 
Is it an oxymoron for a judge to say, “order in the court” before a child pornography case? Does this statement demand that child pornography is the “customary or proper sequence?” Or is it requesting the presence of that wizened old muse that exists in the mind of man? This specter makes himself known to great men in visions of peace. He comes battered by reality and bludgeoned by human nature but he comes nonetheless, limping, and still glowing with the perception that he might be revered once again. But now we exist with a new specter. A jovial bastard called the New World Order. What is new about optimism? Optimism is the opium of a generically dire straight.
Now don’t be quick to judge that I am a pessimist. I love the absolute beauty of nature but I don’t see what we have to be so damn optimistic about. Beauty is arbitrary and held in the eye of the beholder but the future has no glistening sheen about it. The future will be as bitter and rakish as it will ever be.  But I have a lingering faith in humanity that it will triumphs in the wake of the tempest. I have no doubt in the ability of man to overcome but I do not find reason in the optimism that we are reaching some sort of pinnacle. Armageddon is the end of all things and starts at the top of a mountain. Why is man so eager to reach the peak of destruction? The future will be there by the time you check its measure.