fascistprincess

Ago, two nights, I was passionately sad. My most sacred object tore her coverings from in front of her eyes so that she could see better, as well as I. The coverings were never known to me until I saw them ripped; that is odd, seeing that I designed and fitted the fabric to her, though only she had the power to place such personal thing. The sadness arose from questions of legitamacy, that is, how can it be sacred if I do not even know what she is? That was a bit severe, though, seeing that the covering was quite transparent and thin. I am saying that it was a trifle and petty illusion. I really did know my object, and as long as there are willful assumptions of characteristics, and unconscious putting ons of masks, there will be a shedding, or if more tragic, ripping of those characteristics when it is time to supplant. Another question was whether it was compelled by me or impelled? Possibly both. This was the most important question, and one not speedily answerable due to many various decisive points that must be regarded. It was of most importance to understand, maybe not even answer, just be conscious of, lest the problematic occurrence repeat itself. She realy cried that ago two nights night, as did I in closet forms. Although there is no truth, and deductively no falsehood, in the sense of it existing autonomously, there is still honesty, and deceit. And although "real" in the realm of perception is inconstant and dependent, there is a personal idea of oneself, therefore, a possibility of concealing it, or it being concealed; the difference being impulsion, from within, compulsion, from without, and being from within or without but not being conscious of the concealment. Since the ago night, where through an excess of emotion we hit plateaus of apathy in order to psycholigically handle a revelation that had such power over our vulnerable selves, we have assumed the airs of neo-nihilistic romanticism. With those blank but exciteable eyes that we see the world and its people, we stare at each other. That stare betrays the nihilism.