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Are my thoughts merely there, unscripted shadows captured in the orange yellow stain of fire bound by the twine of philosophy like some cheap rendition of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave or am I wrong? Are my thoughts my own; my own truth I should speak that what it is I see what it is I believe is something which defines who I am in this societal pyre of entropic theatricality. Just an actor adlibbing meaning to things such as “are my thoughts my own…†chased by an abrupt end. Should I die then, then what then? |