We Worship perfect because we can’t have it
Language, it has allowed me to dream
I’ve never done anything but dream
All experience is a simulation
Of what our senses tell us
We perceive, all relationships
Are 80% make believe
And thus, I come to the point
Where my ultimate concern
Is naturally, for my inner life
Is the book of disquiet over?
Is the meaning found that escaped me?
Are the idols ready to be pushed aside?
And the myths, are they ready
To succumb to new myths, new standards?
To make way for the new
Language, it has allowed me to feel
I’ve never done anything but feel
All thoughts have a quality of feeling
Objectivity is the greatest lie
But subjectivity is an ironic dreamer
Full of queer promises and casual observations
That do not register fully until years later
That I take a certain pleasure in the fact
Of watching daydreams go down in defeat
Words like any truth, are part duality
And what once seemed like a clever remark
Can later feel like the ghost of an imaginary friend.