Onwards

Once again I have been informed of the rising tide of awareness being exhibited by the common hordes arising from the literary minuets displayed here that are but the shabbiest of cast-offs of mine consciousness but which trifles I do not begrudge my fellow inhabitants of this earthly existence. I say 'fellow inhabitants' not to imply that the mere enclosing of our respective sense of selves within the human physical structure is sufficient to suggest any but the most superficial of comparisons in our wildly disparate spiritual and philosphical essences, but to show that I am not one to deny the essential sameness of this bodily vessel which our selves do deign to inhabit, and the further reality of the earthly plane that our bodies do in turn co-inhabit. We are truly one, even if only in that very superficial sense.

And being one, even if only in said superficial sense, I feel it incumbent upon that which is referred to as me to continue to effect the deepening of the sea of awareness alluded to earlier. Before I go on, one should realise that what is written here is merely the palest of shadows of what I write in the pure land of perfect forms, which branch of this world as it relates to language we refer to as The Land of Perfect Lexicon. However, this land of pure form is utterly inaccessible to those of us not existing within it, which is to say all of us, so the realisation that what is written here is merely the palest of shadows... etc. could be said to be not much fucking use to anyone, as could be said to be the world of pure forms as a whole.

There is also, incidentally, the theory of imperfect or impure forms, which argues that the apparent forms we see around us are merely shadows; the vastly improved versions of a world of half-baked, ill-conceived first draft archetypes, the theoretical constructs of a neanderthal intelligence which is the world of the true, and which our 'reality' merely mimics.