The world is changing colors on me. There’s no value in the grey substance of insight. Nothing’s not geometry and infinitely perfect, like cabalistic theosophies used to be in my youth. There’s nothing sacred in kindred agnosticisms and divine nature. With what you gain in understanding comes the realization that you’ve lost time, effort, youth, and perspective. And the sagacity you’re proud to have earned is nothing big, no difference made in anything that matters.
You’re not genius; you’re nothing special. And if you think you’re the unique, you’re just like every other naïve persistence of perquisition that summates the populace. Your very words fail you after you even think them twice to say it to yourself before entering verbal discourse.
Pretty pugnacious plethora of prerequisite omniscient fourth persons permeates universal precedence of tongue-twisting prosody.
If life is an envelope that films from start of consciousness to finish, then my vision is the only proof I have that some dreams stopped being American techni-color, some dogmatic immutables are no longer quite so fixed, some fallacies are concentric circles, like god and hyperbole, and all things are living context, grey fluffs, like truth and psychology. It all changes, and it doesn’t matter how much fact you think you can accumulate. In the end, no one makes a difference in the world, not even you.
Of atheists and holy men, I can claim that their battle is insignificant, like the ideology after the last significant digit of the chosen smallest decimal. But that’s my omniscience.
Tell me why angels and demons fight? So they matter more to people like you. It’s the desire to be god of infinite complexities to even one more sucker lamb-child.
Someone should have told you by now. You don’t matter. None of you do.
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