Fantastic miniatures of reality are everywhere. Why then bother to copy any part of it when the model is there to read? Why bother extract anything out of this life when we are happy, perfectly happy of what we see as reality explained and packed and ready for us? My life seems extra ordinary yet again. Past and future concepts made to comfort us that we actually accomplish something at the end of this mess. Why not go to the end of the world to see the gods falling out of this world one by one. Why not jump along with them. Where would the end be? If there is any. Where this waterfall leads? And why, why do we picture the end of the world at a waterfall? What if the end is at a desert somewhere? What if I fall into this wholesome whirlwind of sands? Would I die first and suffocate later or the other way around? Would I miss something or be missed by someone? Or all this is just a joke so boring no one feels the need to laugh. Mere words these are. Actions are never there to be taken upon these. We talk and blabber and murmur and chat and whisper. We shout but we are never heard, understood or felt upon the fleshless heart called logic. We are alone yet surrounded by billions everyday. What is human madness but a yawp of awareness. What is a question? What is an answer?
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