I don't mean to come across as an elitist, and indeed I hope I'm wrong, yet I've arrived at the belief that what humanity calls 'infinity' possesses a certain discernment, a sinister life that forces selected consciousness to resurrect. Some are salivating mouths and sex and avarice, so common they're discarded, some possess a more desirable dimension and are cursed to live in reverse, exist again and again, duel in an arena with an unimaginable array of roles and forms simply because their perception has evolved beyond simple hedonism. Basic drive lights are boring, predictable.
To the god I posit exists the concept of 'what if' is an addiction, the interplay of certain individuals it's created interacting throughout eternity is the metaphorical fix. The chafe are banal, the true players possess a frightening dichotomy that's delightfully diverse in its potential dynamism.
Sheriff or outlaw, hero or villain, emperor or serf, fate seems to create juxtapose, which is both the height of humor and the genesis of tragedy as souls change roles.
Masked phantom in the rafters, curtain fall and thunderous applause, good and evil and knives and sorrow and I-
What the fuck am I doing? Where am I? All these words...I don't understand. Get away from me.
This wasn't who I was.