Tuesday 18 April 2017

Questions of the Shape-shifting Cat

"Enlightenment? You know nothing of enlightenment!"

"Heh-heh-heh"

If I am the one who comes knocking, I'd ask to read together, aloud. Because I miss the days I used to speak lines that aren't mine while infusing them with my own emotions. Why can I not be Pyotr Petrovich in all his male crudeness masked by an air of self-importance? I would love to be angered by myself and speak as Lebezyatnikov.

Could nobody offer me such musings?

To laugh together on a sofa with much pretension, will the moment come, where we shed the skin of who we are not before I bid you Gute Nacht? Is even the disguise of a dignified kitten not enough to sway the impossibility of the phantom that you are? If one only takes on a role, who are we acting for on this stage, before an audience that is only a mirror? While truth is woven into the intention of she who comes knocking in the night, can the same be said of the partner that offers his hand to dance?

Feeling our way out of reality, only in our imagination can we exist.

Will the door be answered on the third night of the storm?

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