In the hall they gather; robed in purity, concealing their sins. It’s not really that I believe true evil, but then I don’t believe any of us are truly good, either. What’s the point of an arrow if you fire it the wrong way around? When the colonist showed the old fat Buddha the mirror, the Buddha was delighted as he hadn’t seen his own penis in years. Sad to say, it hadn’t grown as fat as him.
Straight backed they listened to his words as he slowly suffocated. The intention, he explained, is separate from the act. When just the act is observed, then the moral judgment will be different from when the intention is understood. Understanding, they answered, isn’t everything.
Nothing ever is. Life is a fusion, a combination lock, a rubix cube in four dimensions (or is it more?). Purity is as pointless as it is un-adaptive. It is only mixed tinctures of many ingredients that can cure the ailments of the soul. Complexity requires complexity.
The Size of the Bureaucracy is being expanded to deal with the expanding size of the Bureaucracy.
She whispered thoughts tickle my mind, as fantasy and dreams crowd out time spent on more practical things. Instead I sit and watch the world role by, one wave at a time. Let me out! Let me out! There isn’t enough space in here! I’m suffocating on my own thoughts!
Chaos flapped its fragile wings and the world destroyed itself, oblivion loves these ironies, it makes him giggle like a school girl. Once he even blew milk out of his nose when we caught him by surprise with the eradication of an infinity.
Oh, those good old days, when infinity was insignificant, we popped bottled paradox and partied till dawn. There was a tree I got to know, its hard bark hiding its true feelings. When it died, we burned it and ate marshmallows over its ashes.
That’s all done, now. His flame died. Now I’m waiting for my turn.
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