The stubborn philosopher
discredits his craft
by being unable to accept
that one good argument
can – and should –
turn your world upside down.
⊗ The way the words are written is more important than their truthfulness.
The biggest secrets are on display through cryptic works of fiction.
⊗ The placebo is born of magic; a drug with no active ingredients that still manages to work. The more invasive the means of administration, the more powerful the magic. Beautifully, it will work even though you may be aware that you don’t have the real thing.
⊗ One way of making sure the spark never dies is to make sure you never get close enough to breathe on it.
⊗ How do you explain the strange connections?
The words are what’s important. The emotions are just a side-effect. I’m here for the words but I keep letting the emotions run away with me.
And it doesn’t matter that the only way I can think straight is by talking in circles.
A philosophy of poetry is no harder to read than old words by dead thinkers.
And maybe that’s why I can’t resist you. Because if it exists the way it does in our heads, then – in some strange way – it is real.
Fantasy is its own reality. The worlds can co-exist – they may never mingle but the horizons can be blurred just enough. If this is escapism, then what are you trying to escape from? The answer is reality. But there is only reality. So either fantasy is real, or it’s its own reality.
The problem here
is that we exist in both.
And you’re aware of this.
This shared awareness gives it that little bit more power.
The reality of fantasy pays no attention to distance or time. You can summon me any time, even when I’m not conscious, and I’ll be there without even realising it. Our only real obstacle is the limit of our imaginations.
But where this is concerned, our imaginations are over-active. Whenever you think of me, and how I’d feel, and what you’d do to me
and you play it over and over in your mind
then your brain receives signals for every single imagined moment
making your chemistry go through the motions
as though I were physically there.
So your brain believes that this is real, that it actually happened.
Like taking a sugar pill and getting cured anyway.
Sometimes I’m there,
sometimes I’m not.
I’m not really hiding
or masking my motives;
I just have nothing to say.
And this is okay.
I don’t want to disturb you
or take all your attention –
I’m just worried you’ll leave
and I won’t see you go.