To know in silence
In my silence, I contemplated many conundrums from my failed past. As the schizophrenic stage of adulthood entered it's final stage, I sensed that my reality is crumbling away. I know now that in order to constantly roaming for meaning, we of the individual troop of humanity must be wary of the upcoming apocalypse of meaning. Where truth doesn't know where to lay, the meaning itself should not only be contemplated but to be prepared for any kind of demolition. A broken world, a failed world like this.. is it worth clinging to the rubble of the things we erected, as a monument, memento about a world that shouldn't have been? Is it even worth it ? To breath in the air of fictional terror that dared to name itself as truth, as the underlining essence of survival and humanity? Or should I hang myself in the peak of debts, the modern Babel uniting people under the New Woke Order? Should I proclaim my sovereignty, my independence, liberation from the chain that is free...