The hue of man lives in a world narrative that characterizes the form by drowning the mind in a sub-culture of ideals. A world of mythologies and cryptographic language, the race is to look for the enigma to break the code and the seduction to become a complex number... the human equation. We have yet to create a universe as complex as the one we live in. Yet the fanaticism in our sub-culture is born from pantheism giving us a tantalum called pulp fiction. Everything viewed is parasympathomimetic... sending the mind into a panic when we step out of the cell... that parallax view... controlled by the genus loci... as our world grows in a world of gurus where ideals are marketed through fame and the fabulous. We are being made clones in a world of commercialism... for what would be the shepherd without his sheep... being lead to the slaughter.
The narcissistic self is the panoramic reality... a shadow narrative with a god of indulgence, indoctrinated in the culture of individualism as our minds release the principal lords of terror with our obsession of dualism. We go on living in a counterfeit ray creating the heliograph... the cell... the paraphrase in sensationalism that we invoke in liberalism. A labyrinth hidden within our sub-culture... there is no mystery out side of us. Man is god and walks in the image he trusts... himself. To be is not the question but the counterfeit stamp on all currency for what was giving freely. We have a need to pay to reach the place that is made up of the same DNA we ourselves carry, but it will be life that will hold us accountable in our pansophism... the language of pantheism. We would rather be pagans. We need someone or something to worship... and that is our crime. We call it sub-culture.
Dalana Castrell
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The hidden language within the spectrum of color