Paradoxes

When a man tries to understand the world around him, he finds in the dark the light that he was kept from.

I sit. The words flow by in a river of thoughts. If this isn’t damnation, I don’t know what it is. I spit on the floor and drink the cold beverage. More pages to come. Hell comes from stuck ideas, and today mine haven’t offered me any satisfaction. I type. Men’s inability to communicate is the cancer of all humanity. I can’t say what I want. Sinful is the crowd who listens to the crazy in the suits, they don’t care, and neither does the crowd. Who do I look like to them? Just another type of cancer, an awoke narrative that constantly judges. The cat hasn’t eaten today, is hunger the worst of all enemies? Suddenly I notice that the beers filled my stomach and that is why I forgot about him. Fill the pot with some food. Come back and sit. Where was I? Yes! I see through the curtains that the night has come to kill all light and genius is the one with a lantern, to guide, to heal the powerful arms that reach for understanding, they’re tired, because all lenses are paradoxes. I go insane, the voices inside my head tell, this is it, this is time to let go. Why know, when you can just, ignore?

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