I awoke with righteous intentions. I was conceived with similar aspirations as though certain of. And greatly so, if this is now incorrect, I am still alive and will certainly be patient.
But I hear voices…
I imagine myself speaking aloud and coherent in this belief. But the agony reveals that I am wrong. There is so much I don’t understand. There is so much to learn. What will they think if I denied all there expectations?
To all this is just. To white castles weathered by the elements. To intricate ideas complex in there inauguration that now seem all too simple. Where do my hands lay? Of what faction do I belong to? What company? What coalition? I am bound by uncertainty. Bound by the very essence of comfortable lies. Surly you have seen this. Tell me this is all but a dream, a vision of simulacra, the truth within trying to balance itself out. What parabola has brought me to this? And should I question its authority? Maybe so. Or perhaps I will play the silent shrewd on her back praying for death. Like the rest of them. Caged. While analysts probe them with cow prods and questions.
"...'reality' is a word that should always be written in quotations..." Vladimir Nabokov
"...it was the toilet that had something to say..." HM