Revive the 1800s Macabre
And see Taoism for its satire, its offerings purportedly seen as ridiculous are but truths, an honest and accurate insult of the ridiculousness of Confucian values.
For all these words we spray upon our ears and screens, what a simple realization that can be gained from seeing the Tao as it is defined undefinable. Then those vagaries of mine in sentence form shall cease to need their pages of flowing conceptualization. For it seems so unseen that sight is so necessary, and that our defining deludes the expression of the defined. That these statistics suggest only and tell not, these values represent only and measure not, that this is too much to be spent as so little. And so it is supported such a truth, that specificity brings no precision in accuracy but for the uncountable details that would be named to profess a truth.
So now again, rest upon this failure of mine to adhere to standard linguistics when attempting to convey in earnest, when the automated systems of representing not a self, but an imitation of that presented to me, have all ceased to operate. Is it insanity to see these things being such as this? Could it not instead be the drive for sanity to pursue such things, so secretly intertwined, and with such fervor that these realizations are so formed? The condition, how much depth has its roots touched that it is to blame? Is it so obviously to blame at all that the possibilities of its rise cannot be conditional, that those very conditions are not derived from existence in a realm where the loss is not within but without, and is so concealed beneath belief in the other as being to blame?
Perhaps I have come to drastic misunderstandings, perhaps I have seen so much as to overcome what was intended for telling, but this is not the world that a past of progress would from in a future. I see the supposed roots and grounds in which they were grown at such a time-bound distance, that even touching upon the same region of earth would leave me so far from its soil; so how can I know? But I see these gears turning, and those below them are so silent as to tell of gathered dust. These things around me, they are not men; nor am I, but at least in me is there sight.
We are all animals.
For all these words we spray upon our ears and screens, what a simple realization that can be gained from seeing the Tao as it is defined undefinable. Then those vagaries of mine in sentence form shall cease to need their pages of flowing conceptualization. For it seems so unseen that sight is so necessary, and that our defining deludes the expression of the defined. That these statistics suggest only and tell not, these values represent only and measure not, that this is too much to be spent as so little. And so it is supported such a truth, that specificity brings no precision in accuracy but for the uncountable details that would be named to profess a truth.
So now again, rest upon this failure of mine to adhere to standard linguistics when attempting to convey in earnest, when the automated systems of representing not a self, but an imitation of that presented to me, have all ceased to operate. Is it insanity to see these things being such as this? Could it not instead be the drive for sanity to pursue such things, so secretly intertwined, and with such fervor that these realizations are so formed? The condition, how much depth has its roots touched that it is to blame? Is it so obviously to blame at all that the possibilities of its rise cannot be conditional, that those very conditions are not derived from existence in a realm where the loss is not within but without, and is so concealed beneath belief in the other as being to blame?
Perhaps I have come to drastic misunderstandings, perhaps I have seen so much as to overcome what was intended for telling, but this is not the world that a past of progress would from in a future. I see the supposed roots and grounds in which they were grown at such a time-bound distance, that even touching upon the same region of earth would leave me so far from its soil; so how can I know? But I see these gears turning, and those below them are so silent as to tell of gathered dust. These things around me, they are not men; nor am I, but at least in me is there sight.
We are all animals.