Disaster descends on me.
You may think that your life is a crude play in some demented playwright’s hands, but I think you are far too conceited for that to be true…We all may be a cast of characters in a demonized version of the truth, but we hide truths vastly greater than the sum of all parts…Our own microcosms spin egocentrically around ourselves cast as the sun…The diplomacy you may think you show towards others is the revealing mask to your inner demons…They betray you and bankrupt your soul’s energy, and not for any special causes as you would dream to perceive…Instead, they puncture your particular little universe to spread the foul-smelling putresence you wish not to be, but that sits there rotting on your plate…It is not foulness that acts within me to speak these words, but a desire to tell the truth about the horrendous glories we take for ourselves when all we are can’t be more than imagined…Perfect truths and immaculate lies creep and crawl their way across the visible tenses of percolating disaster…We are mistaken.
Posted by Friday on September 6th, 2007 in d for Dysteleology.... You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.