Another morning...another day.
Annoying ticking that never ceases.
It was nice to be somewhere this morning and to feel apart of something outside of myself...I guess it's because we have this silly notion of the need of utter self sufficiency...when no one can make it own their own.
Just another sad song in an endless stack of tired ballads that Dylan wouldn't even touch.
What is this longing?
Deeper than life?
Hotter than flame?
Merest inklings of another world pressing deep and in such an uncomfortable way that it sets people on the defensive...and that is when it is when thoughts concern it are properly executed.
People speak of the infinite in such finite terms that they do not begin to grasp what the think they are sensing. I am no different from my predecessors who were nothing more than stumbling blocks preventing people from knowing that Veritas, that ἀλήθεια is truly You.
Everything and nothing...summarized in such a way that it underscore the beautiful horror.
Absolutes so vivid that they reduce human based understanding to the base animalistic core that everyone is content to reside at.
"What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and; anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
"I am made of parts that freeze and ligaments that atrophy
Though they look they’ll never see
They don’t know something’s wrong with me
And just as well, I’ll never tell what’s underneath the scales
I’ve worn to thin to honor you, my every effort fails
So bury me with Israel and cover up my tracks
Leave not a trace of what I was, I’m never coming back
And if you’re mercy falls upon he whose blood is cold
Unearth me with your hands of love and never break your hold"
-Showbread
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