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What is this time? Far past twilight, nowhere near dawn. The in-between time, when it is so cold we forget what warmth is. “Really, must we speak of what madmen dream, because we breathe in the same fumes.” She said. Or was it her. Or him. Or me?
We try to speak of many things and the words float around and above and beyond. Perhaps she meant “really, we must speak of what madmen dream, for we breathe the same fumes.” It’s hard to know what anyone means anymore.
Words stopped being only words such a long time ago.
Why is the search for simplicity so complicated?
We walk in this world always governed by another’s pace. But it must begin somewhere. Does it end when we find the beginning? And still, I do not know what this time is.
She called me, just the other day. But it was in another’s words and not her at all. And I wonder if it isn’t just as well. Funny how honesty becomes so important in the middle of a lie. And I play the magic IF game for hours only to lose myself in the play. And I’ve forgotten the rules again, much to my dismay. At least time is irrelevant in-between realities.
And isn’t it funny how you never know what reality you’re in. Perhaps this is not a common problem for most people. It is for me. How do you know that you see the same color that I see when we look at something green? How can you be sure that what I call a circle and what you call a circle is, in fact, the same shape? Our realities are shaped by our perceptions. But our shared reality is shaped by our words. And unless we are in another’s brain, how do we know that everyone is assigning the same words to the same perceptions? Perhaps every “green” thing you see is “pink” to me, but my word for pink is green. So it seems as if we’re seeing the same, when in actuality we are not. Which begs the question…if we both think it is the same, is it not then, the same?
Mind-boggling. Who is right and who is wrong? Did God throw them out of the garden because they disobeyed, or because they were a hair away from learning his secret? Knowledge is power. Power is dangerous. These statements are untrue. Knowledge can be power, if applied correctly. Power can be dangerous, if the wielder chooses it to be so.
Isn’t it funny that madmen are the lucky ones. No masks, no illusions, no formalities. Just the searing brightness that shines out from their eyes. We fear the insane for the same reasons we damn the filthy rich – jealousy. Envy. We want to join them. We want to know what it’s like to really live in their world, for we are aware that we’ll never truly know what it’s like to be in their shoes until we’ve got a matching pair. Funny, though, those who feel proud when they hear the filthy secrets of the rich but feel dirty when they hear the honest laugh of the mad. It’s all a matter of perception.
I wish they’d line these roads with big willow trees and better street signs. I get lost amidst the shapeless shadows and directionless maps. Especially at this time, so far past twilight and nowhere near the dawn.

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