It’s always the same terrifying dream – a projection of a future that presses itself against my consciousness, leaving nothing but the residue of what once resembled life.
It’s a madhouse, a white in white madhouse that holds no one but those who fell off the grid somewhere. I can’t move around because everything in existence is stifled there; laughter that failed to escape its realm and tears rimming eyes like withering organs. Their voices are crushed questions; ones the world held no answer to, and their bodies are stories of an overturned subconscious. I wonder if the horror of human ignorance had anchored their limbs to the ground, or perhaps it was the weight of knowledge, the burden of –knowing-, that emptied them of the vital promise that enabled humans to breathe: the prospect of tomorrow, the possibility of meaning. They’re immobile for they no longer wear their ideals on their heads like woolen hats; they exhausted them in the process of trying to shake the world out of its stupor. And that’s when they were deemed unfit for it; that’s when they disintegrated into fragments which could’ve fueled the earth but perished instead.
It's always the same terrifying thought - is ignorance bliss?
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
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