Monday, September 12, 2016

Descartes' Influenza, Med 3: a Worm

I am a worm. I know myself better than anyone else around (save for God). Does the devil understand? Can an entity that's literally hell-bent on deception have proper understanding of anything, including the one being deceived? How does he find a true self to deceive? Why do my beliefs matter, when I am a worm? I am the broken windows policeman of morality. The space between myself and the chandelier means something but other things mean more. I don't know why. What do others have that I do not? If I understand my importance as being microscopic, that means I don't wish to be heard for practical reasons, as if possessing actual power, however minute ... it means I wish to be heard because of my desire to transcend this microscopic nature, or avarice. Don't mistake lemon juice for lime juice. Just shoot the shiny pin ball! Coil is there for you like a television advertisement full of promises. Lights will dance as you choose to hail them. Avoid the self at all costs! Congratulate the dyad; the celebrated ones need others to celebrate them. What does bitterness become when it's set aside?

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