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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The Dreamer posted on 5:34 AM
This beautiful piece of writing reminds me of George Orwell's novel "1984".
The fear of knowing, and the prospect that someone, someday might start questioning the ideal, and the norm probably terrifies some people, who are all for "blindly" following the rules.
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