Discovery has struck me as stumbling in the dark over what was known.
Then, oh then, shining of lights burning feverish ridiculous ideas stem from some crepuscular electrified ordinance in my mind and i flush blooded with remembrance of some inherited ideal, a brush with fate, the need to persevere despite any real need to persevere.
As men on islands survive alone, intent with purpose, even if the purpose merely be to survive on the crust of a barren piece of dust. My sons in the other room, no possessions of mine, free of this I hope, a yearning to escape is often rewarded with death or madness, or genius, all of which persecute and set you apart from spirit, alienated harsh a clime untenable but breathable, a world where one grasp at the chaff ,turning it somehow to wheat.
And men, now (in this shadowy world of lies masquerading as truth) scoff at us, for dreaming, thinking alien thoughts, breaking the back of their earthly wisdom, filled with its own self actuating ideologies. Perhaps I’m a fool who can quote philosophies of dead nations and living ones, perhaps a harbinger of a fate higher than ever expected but spurned, or merely a fool who thinks to highly of his regimen, of his God, of his fellow man. Ive thought worse and better thoughts.
Written worse and better things.