I would sell it all to say one original thought, something that wasn't old and worn-out. Between grace and damnation, thought and expression, life and death, existence and non-existence. The one-hundred seven illusions.
Illusions.
Words are illusions, inadequately trained and shoddily dressed stand-ins for reality.
People think that if they say the words, they will understand reality.
I know better: I know that words aren't a substitute. I know because I gained some small degree of mastery over words and so know just how often I'm absolutely choked to the gills with shit, and I can be as damned elegant as I want and say absolutely nothing.
To. Show. For. My. Day.
klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.
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