The image has been taken, withheld and divided from its source. The image has absorbed light, leaving a dark void where there should have been a face.
The most punishing of prisons: No one is there, not even one’s self reflected in a mirror.
Nothing else, that image is what I aim to achieve. Consciousness is otiose, obeying conditioned choices.
A bad and ad hoc monologue is a byproduct of seamless projection.
What is the opposite of omniscient?
It can’t even read. Beyond loneliness, beyond disregard, but it remains the best feeling, unfortunately, a feeling almost as consoling as loved one’s embrace. Nothing to seek but that state where there is nothing to do, nothing to be. Nothing to become. Nothing to prove. Nothing to say. Impossible ends give rise to impossible people.
