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It has always been about one word or about a word. The word can have many shades and can be formed from countable letters making it no less predictable. The word might be life, might be love, might be death. Might as well be suffering, pain or happiness. Itís all semantics and semantics are the true pure power. An image is worth a thousand words. Even the power of an image can only be quantified through its equivalence in a number of letters sticked together forming a shorter or longer word.
People who canít read, they lack power and they donít miss knowledge since theyíve never experimented it first hand for there to be anything to miss. Ignorance is bliss they say. These are the words which never lie.
They cary more meaning than weíd like to admit and we only feel their sharp edge when they head towards us and we think little of them when we send them soaring towards those around.
When we find ourselves measuring the power of the words we use. When we use them to manipulate our social and even physical environment, thatís when we feel most in control and thatís how we reach our goals. Take politics, as a short, sweet and sour exampli gratia.
Itís useless to pretend we understand ourselves or human nature. What Iím talking about is not philosophy, not even an attempt at it. Itís simply words. Simply? Yeah, itís never that easy. Youíve read so far, maybe youíll keep on reading. The decision is not yours, the power is in the words you keep on reading as they drag you further. If you stop then youíve lost the connection which shouldíve been unbreakable. Thereís a fine line between meaningful and meaningless and that short line is one word. One wrong word and the reader disengages, he will shut down and will care no more. Heíll keep on going over a few more words, who knows, maybe pages but will never come back for the rest. Thatís what happens outside of the context of a text as well.
You explore, you experiment, you discard and your start all over again. You can say it in other words, you can give it a different nuance, it will change the way you feel about this cycle, but in the end it will be the same thing transcribed in more or less powerful words.
Playful arenít they? These short chunks of characters. Permutations of their contents can make us confuse, can leave us crying or can stir us to battle and the ultimate sacrifice. Why do you enjoy a movie or a relationship? You think itís thanks to the special effects, of the way your other touches your lips? Youíre lying to yourself and youíre using words to do it.
Itís all about the story and itís all about your past. Even when left speechless, the lack of words, the comfortable silence is meaningful. They are powerful in presence and in absence, these words.
A fight between lovers leaves damage more through the sharpness of words than through the power of the fist. Well, at least in most cases. You will find those who say they wouldíve rather been slapped than to be forced to hear what theyíve been told. We can heal and distance ourselves from a damaged body. Stephen Hawking himself proves this to us better than any other. But there is no escaping from our own mind. Maybe you like to pretend youíre in control, that youíve trained yourself but even having done so it only proves the point that there is something to be afraid of in these tied up letters.
History is remembered only through words. There are old movies of course but their scripts are written on paper and the real story behind them lays somewhere in the dusty pages of a heavy book.
You know what law is? Itís a fantasy of course. But what is fantasy written in? Itís not written but painted in our imagination. Imagination then is where words are given birth. And even as they scream as much as us, they tend to outlive us by far.
I knew a word once. Sweet, kind and caring. This word was my best friend and those jokes always made me laugh. We started off as anagrams, but then our meanings began to differ and we found ourselves on different fronts of the dictionary. From synonyms we turned into antonyms and we forever removed ourselves from each others vocabulary. We no longer shared the same notebook and soon enough we were being written by different pens. Thatís when the story changed completely and we found ourselves used in different languages of parallel origins. In our last moments we never shared a letter.
Humans think in patterns and examine the world by means of images, sounds, senses. But they speak to themselves in words and they speak to each other through words. They seem to imagine a world where words are no longer necessary but can they possibly picture one in which their inner self wonít speak to them in words?
You are a word. Made out of countless letters. With a different meaning to every reader. Permuting continuously and relentlessly. You seek to merge with other words and change your meaning and many times you tend to discover more of your obscure origins. Youíve got synonyms but you tend to keep your antonyms even closer. Some donít get you, canít remember you or simply never need you but you donít care as long as your definition is longer than theirs.
Itís weird isnít it? How humans resemble us so much.
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As a young boy I used to love mirrors. The instant response, the face smiling back at me in my happiest moments and crying along side with me on my darkest days. The reflection understood me like none other.
Now, as I stand between two of these surreal reflective surfaces, I find myself looking upon infinite worlds of possibilities. If I dare to look close enough I can seize a glimpse of what the present might hold if only my dreams turned into reality.
I touch it, amazed by its lack of imperfections and I sink into the silvery mass of liquid. I let myself be shrouded into millions of pluralities, all different from me and yet the same in all aspects that matter.
I stop in one reality and stand in awe. It looks so very real. I see myself happy. How long has it been since I've been so happy and so .. oh .. so full of life? I'm swimming in my own pool in front of that huge mansion which is unmistakably mine as the crest on the front door dictates.
The reflection in the watery mass grabs my attention. I jump and succumb to the vortex of infinite realities once more.
Iím in an office, so many levels above the ground. The view is outstanding and the city looks modern. Thereís scarcely any furniture but the little that is gives a formidable elegance to the oversized room. Admiring the view through the glass wall is again me or, better said, another me. The huge trademark on the back wall reveals the name of the company I now own and the slogan United we stand.
I touch the metallic surface of the wall and the world blurs out yet again.
Iím in the yard of a small comfy house. Thereís a white dog barking at me and a huge front lawn. A beautiful familiar girl walks towards my new self with two lemonades and kisses me softly and passionately before handing me one of the shiny glasses.
ďHow was your day?Ē she asks.
I look at the sweet liquid and my reflection looks right back at me. I blink.
Iím back. Back between a duality of mirrors. I now realise all those futures, presents and pasts couldíve been mine if only I hadnít spent all my life in front of this mirror.
Now Iím old, much too old to start again. Iím beyond what any mirror can fix no matter how mystical.
A small tear slides down my face. I can see my reflection in it through the mirror ahead...
The once untethered silver surface lays broken at my feet and I feel free. Free of self-consciousness and self-limitations. Purely and utterly free.
And then I realiseÖ Iím just as chained by time as Iíve always been.
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Nightmares are my only link to sanity.
Sometimes nightmares are all that keep us sane in a world full of dreams, of precious little fake snowflakes melting away into the darkness of our sorrow.
We are morally obliged to treat nightmares with fear and we fail to understand how they reflect thyself and thy world just as much as any heavenly dream might possibly do.
In a world of nightmares there would be no lies, no hell or heaven, neither darkness or even light, there, in the world of nightmares, only reality would prevail as what are nightmares if not a way to express our surrounding reality in the way our woken selves could never do. When awake we live a world of lies and subjectivity, not only beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Humanity would fail to survive if it would not lie itself every morning is a new beginning.
Join the dark side, we have dreams too.