As one slowly dissolves,
monsters live within the sea:
A nice blue ocean. Emotions survive in dreams. Sometimes one dreams… language was made. Writing on paper once had a purpose. Postmodernism is dying, rightfully. The bedrock of information is beyond language. It is in silence.
The script is written. Ideology pens its manifestation.
The institution speaks through its representative.
“You are the identity we have given you,” they say. It is their recruitment.
“I think, therefore I am,” is the wrong way, then, “You are not your mind.”
Well said, and closer to reality.
The world is a stage, they say.
Good god, persuasion is greatly invisible, they say.
I have lost my place in time.
I am my name