Conscience

 

Past thoughts encircling I can feel a beckoning, a sort of signaling of something frightening. Sitting freely in an imaginary sanctuary—the imprisonment in the body suffocating the breathing.

 

 Wittgenstein said, ‘the limit of my language is the limit of my world.’ and “we keep running up at the walls of our cage.” We keep running at the walls of our cage I said once in my head and once out loud. In a far distant place in my mind a voice seem to emanate a shout like, the greatest philosopher of the 19th century…followed by a different voice, a German faggot oh nonetheless. Both of the voices then started arguing.

 

 “Weren’t we the civilization of reading? But how did a civilization founded on reading forget the act of reading?” Kahlid Abu Fadel

 

More and more I detest people. Though I am sure I’ll miss them if they were gone. These people that make the world go round. Oh the sheer sight when the eye set on them it’s as if I see through them, able to read their mind; conflicting, dumbing, shallow and un-interesting.  Solitude –the mere thought already appealing leaves one craving. 

 

Like a wild animal in a cage, entertainment to the people who pays, to live in enslavement, prejudice and corruption. They point their fingers whilst superior in a bigger cage.

 

The man made hierarchy, an unjust institution, of stupid insinuations, upheaving the selfish industrialists; Wolves’ cladded in sheep’s clothing. Albeit under circumstances, the self too caught up in the web of the corporation in the hope to make a living.

 

My path still clouded, my oath misguided—lurking and looking to be embraced by the light striving in battles more losing than winning. My thirst not quenching, my hunger not subsiding, I close my eyes, my fingers drowned into my hair, my palms over my eyes trying to comfort the unhappy self.

 

“There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible, as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man” -Polybius.

 

 

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