reasoning with the other inner voice,
that there might be a purpose for all this stimulus:
just another week, another day
there’s a point at which i must beg me, stay,
bear with me. drudge
through the sludge of truth.
truth resides in stimuli, in the motherfuckers
who need my attention, there it waits
disguised itself by the illusion that i can do what i want!
a force revealed when i see it through the eyes of
my deepest apologies to plato, glaucon
because i gave up my position and
thrust forth the pain of inquiry ––
pseudo intellectualism, i once heard it called
two is prime. prime is god.
three is odd. release the doubt,
let it roam free.