Data

A self-taught philosopher. A miserly organism trying to understand its ontological conundrums. He does not believe the imperial lineage of data transposed on him by an ever-fragile conviction of those within and without, all around him, meandering with their data of beliefs, of a rigid order that creates all.

Suppression. What suppression? Its all around you too. But your existence is a gift from the pantheon of those who glorify and rule and ruse over the uncharted territories impenetrable by human-kind. Then why does it even concern me. Who asked for it in the first place. Not me.

I wasn’t even asked once. But the fantastic cosmology crafted by the imperial lineage is such that once the material is manifest, they run after the causes and the effects. Being precedes existence. What fallacy!

Every now and then there is a mention of these ideas of a nocturnal abyss which will penetrate our hearts and minds with an elixir of satisfaction that is beyond my current comprehension. These ideas are manifold, intricate in their details or rather I, from my vantage point, understand it to be a well-nuanced device of great marketability. There is no denying; look at how many lay around you in their orgasm-ed daze in search for this beyond-your-and-my-understanding state of existence. My only question is, what are you going to do all the while? Existence, after a while too, becomes a painful burden. To rise up day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day to periodic somnolent ventures in the dark, it becomes monotonous, and its tedium, gratifying to the select or let me say, the majority few.

What wonder. The wonder of living forever. Fantastic. What about the one long stretch of this pendulum-like motion that you currently regard as this honor, a gift, to experience the subtleties of sensory influx. What are your thoughts on this back-and-forth motion? Does it not placate your sensory apparatus, or understanding? It does not.

And I must confess. It does not satisfy me either. That is why I will still question. And you can join me if you fancy. But if you don’t, yours is yours to take and I can only point at the gaping gaps which the imperial lineage of data so suddenly shrouds.

The data then is absurd. Or perhaps we do not have the capacity to process it. Yet.