The world's face is a strange motley of comely and homely features whose reality betokens barbarism. The blemishes are repugnant and distracting, but the amiable qualities are equally arousing. Here is a face to be loved or hated. None cursed to behold it may feel indifferent or in between for long. The world's face is such.
Those who hate it view it closely--mere inches from its posterior. Their pupils dilate as they register all the grotesque imperfections their detailed inquiry yields. They process data individually, weighing and judging piecemeal using sophisticated instruments, then move on to the next subject with the thorough precision(though not the detachment) of a scientist.
Those who love it view it from afar. They relish the figure as a connoisseur would a work of art. They are able to appreciate the whole because they do not linger on the specific. They use their emotive senses, absorbing the world's face in a breath and letting it fill their bodies with the most sanguine appreciation.
Society requires both haters and lovers in order to maintain balance. For all skewed societies are totalitarian in nature. This is undeniable.
The world shows its face to few. Most people will live out their time compartmentalized, with no inkling that such a thing exists. As a result, the blessed(or cursed) minority face the hardship of isolation. It is the individual's constitution that determines whether (s)he will overcome or be overrun.
Fewer still are those whose nature forces them to transist from love to hate or vise versa. And once set, the transition is by no means permanent. But during the reversal's timespan, the feeling is absolute. These are the most dangerous of the gifted because their temperament is a tempest. They are fiery hosts to absurd bouts of irrational behavior. They shift from each extreme whenever their plagued reason wills it. This is because they have viewed the world's face from both angles, and the knowledge has driven them mad.
Our peace is a whorish mistress. We are ever searching for that gray purgatory that lies between ecstasy and despair. Our exhausted brains are on the verge of fainting.
The fortunate pitch their gypsy tents at the crossroads between both worlds and are swept to each extreme amidst brief periods of meditation. We sell our wares to rash travelers. Yet we see them off with a dark knowledge brooding in our hearts, with our souls imploring them to flee.
We are the ones who will never find comfort in the words, "Thy will be done."
Those who hate it view it closely--mere inches from its posterior. Their pupils dilate as they register all the grotesque imperfections their detailed inquiry yields. They process data individually, weighing and judging piecemeal using sophisticated instruments, then move on to the next subject with the thorough precision(though not the detachment) of a scientist.
Those who love it view it from afar. They relish the figure as a connoisseur would a work of art. They are able to appreciate the whole because they do not linger on the specific. They use their emotive senses, absorbing the world's face in a breath and letting it fill their bodies with the most sanguine appreciation.
Society requires both haters and lovers in order to maintain balance. For all skewed societies are totalitarian in nature. This is undeniable.
The world shows its face to few. Most people will live out their time compartmentalized, with no inkling that such a thing exists. As a result, the blessed(or cursed) minority face the hardship of isolation. It is the individual's constitution that determines whether (s)he will overcome or be overrun.
Fewer still are those whose nature forces them to transist from love to hate or vise versa. And once set, the transition is by no means permanent. But during the reversal's timespan, the feeling is absolute. These are the most dangerous of the gifted because their temperament is a tempest. They are fiery hosts to absurd bouts of irrational behavior. They shift from each extreme whenever their plagued reason wills it. This is because they have viewed the world's face from both angles, and the knowledge has driven them mad.
Our peace is a whorish mistress. We are ever searching for that gray purgatory that lies between ecstasy and despair. Our exhausted brains are on the verge of fainting.
The fortunate pitch their gypsy tents at the crossroads between both worlds and are swept to each extreme amidst brief periods of meditation. We sell our wares to rash travelers. Yet we see them off with a dark knowledge brooding in our hearts, with our souls imploring them to flee.
We are the ones who will never find comfort in the words, "Thy will be done."
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