08 October 2017

Beast of Burden

"Great deeds, great songs." ~ Klingon proverb
(1/3) Object

It has this air of time, this replication of what my readers are, on this day of days, tired of exaggerated extents and the beleaguered buoyancy to partial efforts in half measures, when not writing anything proves more worth. This further assists believers, further detracts dissenters, and proves in and of itself that anything can be written and no point be made. Thus, my goal is to stem the world from being swept away in sensation, but more than ever, prove that an essay about nihilism is equally pointless. It's an entirely absurd definition to face compulsion to write without hunger and then share describe it as such to those who have a hunger to write, so let the irony return.

In your electronic years, like garden plants whose seeds ruin their ability to fruit or whose flowers ruin their ability to extend roots, altho those things are true to the final form, having an evolving perception of something true as pure sunlight and making it responsible for actions unjustifiable to ourselves, often enuf.

(2/3) Verb
An internalization soon explodes on the world, without learning the social construct, without imagining the oppression of hive singularity, and avoiding the vast chasm of ignorance provided by defining the universe without going there. There is room to disagree with this, this isn't an irreversible pattern or outside force, it is not an irreversible mechanism. Perhaps it is and shouldn't be, perhaps it isn't and should.

The words confined to our human ideas, the ideas confined to words that aren't needed yet, in the minds of you and others, as are you and others in these simple words, part of a structure no more than grammar no less than sounds. The truth as a function of itself, or in reverse, echoes across reality, whether the depths of space already too large to imagine and forever impossible to complete, for there is no energy for that, so we form ideas of words and words of ideas and begin recording them all.

Wonders to be seen from the upper atmosphere, binary indicators 1 and 0 not only too small to see but indecipherable in magnetic form, and across the pages of books of oldest kings with the largest empires. Nothing new, nothing old, and nothing corrupt. Just the truth as we see it, no matter how many lies. The bird who flies toward the sun still sleeps in every night.

(3/3) Subject
These things in a fictional existence brought into being beyond the physical barrier, where you not to see them for yourself, incredible visions told to people in a moment, in person, on the network, remind me of what should be closer. The burden of proof not a requirement for fiction, but some illusion cannot be dissolved, the objective truth in the perspective lie, a shadow of its former self. It is the type of word that indicates its roots which eludes memory, but means to have only been written down because it is fact. As the point of all this escapes me.

The emperor writes a book and generals praise it's value in the present and bookworms value it in the past, just as a roof is praised then needs repairing. Like the need for books is passed from teacher to student of reading, there can only be time to import the essential nature. A dictionary does this, a liar does not. This entry has become more about memory and desire, and the luxury has been lost, if there is something of it worth repeating so shall it be done, and in the darkness a dawn, and in the heroes a song, so that the truest of words may be spoken, and the rantings of imbeciles be viewed as nature and not a poem.

"Only a Sith deals in absolutes" ~ Obi Wan Kenobi