I am dying.Don't crack that hopeful sunshine smile of yours yet.I am not dying.I have knowingly/unknowingly plunged into the deepest abyss of conscious cerebral devastation.I see lights.I feel darkness.I talk to people without an inkling of my true self.It does not matter anymore.The mirror of my identity has finally cracked and all that i see are a myriad of images,each different,each haunting,each perfect.If life truly is a stage then i am the perfect actor.
What is true?What is wrong?What is real?Does it really matter now?When silence is deafening and you are in a funk where all that matters is nothing,then the world gets scared.Voids of identity.Large blank spaces.Hazy visions.Spiralling control or rather the lack of it.The world is not an oyster,it is a mirage.A puff of smoke gathered in a lifetime.Past,present and future are nothing but recurring chapters where nothing is what it seems.
Bring out the gods.Drag them on the streets.Pelt them with stones and ask them,
Mere playthings or an experiment that went out of hand?Maybe they don't have an answer.Maybe they do.Interrogate.Bad cop.Very bad cop.
The above situation is an ideal one.The center will truly collapse if gods turn out to be a figment of our imagination.Where do we turn now?Objectivism won't take you far,you will burn out.But how do i care?I am dying,after all.
It is amusing to mock the world at large.Having cynicism that shrouds itself in sarcasm is an intellectual orgasm.In those seconds of undefinable bliss,you spurt out(no pun intended) sheer brilliance,pent up creativity and seer like solitude.The world is very scared now.
Things turn ugly.The world,scared and frightened,calls upon its armies.Vast numbers.Power.Oooh it wants to intimidate.A defensive move clearly.I smile for i smell fear.This is not war.It is an extermination.Extermination of bodies,of books,of solid mahogany desks.The world cracks a beautiful smile.Terror has been suppressed.Children may go out and play.The machine starts again.The world is a better place once again.
Two lovers in trance like passion.Bodies intermingled.Stench of sex.The seed reaches its temple.Two cells join.Post coital cigarette anyone?Another one is coming.Another one will be sacrificed at the alter.Its time to smile.
I did not die after all.