One of these dynamics is simple enough, the reaction, the avoidance, the seeking of silence whether it is audible, visual internal or external. Your author has a smirk on his face in that the most extreme example of a fascist salute is always aimed directly at one Humpty Dumpty versus another. The pavement is thick over the dialog that questions the roots of this fractal tree of frantic and antic menu of poseurs, in a heavenly war of words that tower over the landscape of the paranormal neurosurgeon, who pry's back the skin of light to probe a darkness that informs the phantoms and monsters beneath, who have a profound desire to murder what they love.Entertaining serial killers. The masks of desire are perhaps the featureless clones of a human hive who possess a love of ritual dances..in rites of disambiguation by an invocation of behavioral patterns in the commerce of language.
We have been abducted by the genius of a madness, yet we blithely ignore the bone fragments that bear a genome of repetition to the death. Gurdjieff pokes a stiff finger forcefully into my back from the row in the theater of seats behind me.. Ouch. He says, "You see.. people no longer believe in their eyes."
Decades here have passed since the decline of the organic world began, the admonishment of oil as a fuel and yet...to sit on a wall, dance on a ledge..as yet the the probe beneath the skin reveals more skin inasmuch as..
"The imaginary is what tends to become real."
— André Breton
Reality made in our own image. How self referential is That which we have conceived of and perhaps the best response is as Pythagoras thought that toward all this viewing of reality through a human eye.. "It is better wither to be silent, or to say things of more value than silence. Sooner throw a pearl at hazard than an idle or useless word.." Always in his own image is all, in an inversion of the incommensurable, which is perhaps best reproached by silence in the face of an immeasurable self glorification at the expense of nature.
"A constant human error: to believe in an end to one's fantasies. Our daydreams are the measure of our unreachable truth. The secret of all things lies in the emptiness of the formula that guard them."
— Floriano Martins
"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never..." The old man turns his back and refuses to engage us. Perhaps too much has already been said and this he thinks, as if an instinct has gone far beyond words...like a web, a sticky entanglement of stringing nouns vowels and verbs to catch the inexpressible we all run away from as fast as we can, while appearing to be rational..He thinks it now to be a preferable choice to have said nothing..but there is no amnesty from this, in this world or the next..Listen to him, he raves..did you hear what he just said? We heard him from a distance.."Humpty Dumpty is an autocrat!"
The old man waves us off, do not approach..he knows us better than he knows himself..