Is suffering the opiate of the individual? How else does one explain the addiction to faith? Perhaps this is the “true” nature of the addictive personality; an inability to self-soothe, a need for external opiate to alleviate life’s suffering.
ii.
Why can’t coincidence be profound? What is it about texts that despite characters such as Barthes and Foucault, despite revision of history, despite all evidence to the contrary (I suspect we may all be secret solipsists) that makes authorial intent still so sacred? I’m not sure it should matter whether the coincidental references to red are such or not. They are there, no? The red can be read!
iii.
Connect nothing, but the dots. Here lies isomorphism:
iv.
The screws holding the ground to the world are actually sprinklers for the lawn. This I cannot emotionally believe, despite all rational and ocular evidence to support it. I am certain that they are a ploy, a ruse, and that one day soon the warranty will expire and we will all be cast hurtling headlong into the black hole that waits patiently behind a mask of brilliant stars. I’ll be ready, Chicken Little. I’ll be ready. We will fall into the sky, ascending from Terran wheeling through the hearts of Luna and Sol.
v.
To suffer the madness of the muses, we must stick with odd numbers (from whither doth that phrase appear? the odd-numbered muses? she mused, and puzzled, and bowed out gracelessly). The novel may indeed have been one giant sunstroke, but perhaps so is life. To be punch drunk, we need substance (or at the very least, a substance).
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