The Lucid Discourse of an Intellectual

I crossed a distinct boundary between the good and the not. And I lost that which was good and, quite plainly, that which was not. I never saw fit to foreclose upon my past, yet, I could not gain the courage to secure my supposed future.

So there I was again, confused- bewildered. How was it that I was to know that which ailed me? No, the circumstance had far outrun my pace. Dare I say that I was under not my own control? Dare I say that I was under the control of the emotional capability? Yes, I dare say such a thing. For I was as such, and, as such, am formidably in its own decree.

I took upon me the weaponry of the ancient, and struck that which bore a living within all that is. No, I would not like to mislead the interpretation. Do not declare me what it is you wish. Only seek an answer that is forgiving of my plea. Dare not disturb the work I have yet to set forth, for, if disturbed, the work will hold the lesser of the two meanings. What it is, you ask? Ah, but the answer has been foretold by all.

I found within all life the cry of the fallen declarations of the innocence. The innocence, that is, which once ruled the beast, which now refers to the title of “mankind.” “Mankind,” we say, does not find a deserving pleasure within the here and the now, but calls upon itself to define the goods and deeds which it itself mounts upon the worthwhile and decently acceptable. I myself have once upon a time found worth inside that which declares; yet, upon the finding out of the obviously undeniable, I have altered my decision.

To one outside of the thoughts upon which this declaration is mounted I can imagine a great and unsettling feeling would arise. It is but a small and vagrant measure that I post this to all: enemies and friends alike. I find a definition an important and necessary part of the cleansing process. I am whomever it is that finds the truth within all the other findings of the all. I am but a small and desperate waning for the Earth and the coming of the tomorrow yet to arrive. I am but a man, and the rest is as follows.

I do not expect one to find this entry as a calling from the behind or the following, but as a repeated threat which has merely the emptiest of inclinations. I do not expect much of the wandering eye. What it is that I see forthcoming is the smallest of virtues: the crying out of the fraudulent supper. For it is that which does not seek to inquire nor fulfill. It is simply a method, and that which does not implant the intelligence or the inquisition to deny.

So it is that I must again ask of you the impossible task of asking yourselves. I must again find within you the trust that I do not even hold within my very self. I must find within the found without. Why it is that I am forever finding the fate of knowledge within the unknowledgeable, I can not say. All I can say is what truly is. And that, my colleagues and my peers, is something that only one such as you can decipher correctly.

I leave to one as such the answer to every question that ever found itself written upon the scribe. And I would expect it to be answered, and if not answered thought to be answered. And if not that than something, for the capability is well aware. And the distinction has been made. If let down, the disgust will be unknown, but even that is more than one should or can bare in the slightest.

And I leave. I wish it upon one to sway in importance. I wish it upon one to gaze in sight. I wish it upon thee to see within reason. And one can, easily- despite the feelings that forgetfully arise. And I stay. And, in that, I leave.

A guy