We are living at the end of reality, and we all know it. The problem is that we have no way to prove it, because all we have been left to construct our truths are the illusions and pantomimes of fragile facts. Our world is full of empty things, inflated things, imitative things, and an entire extra dimension of overlapping delusions.
Advertising has become the very food that we consume, it cannot nourish us. It can only turn our need for nourishment into a compulsion to hunger, which then forces us to remain starving and scavenging. We do not understand the things the songbirds sing to, or the depths of the primordial darkness our species fled from in the immortal terrors of our evolution.
If there is any light left to us, it will not be found shining like a beacon at the far edges of this earth’s false frames. Whatever light is left to us can only be illuminated by daring to defy the dominating darkness within ourselves, and to demand that this lingering light cease to remain dormant and diminished. What waits to be seen within these pages is to be a lighted pathway unto the entrance of the greater depths and more luminary things within own inner oblivion. This tale is of course its own illusion; its own dream. Every great journey begins with a dream, so let this one begin as a dream against the dark…
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