One
swallow does not a summer make.
Knowing
matters. Why does it matter? Because it does. It matters. But that’s the game—the torture—the double
bind. You will not be allowed to have
the one thing that could either give you peace or send you off the cliff of
despair, or both. This one thing will be
taken from you. Instead you will wonder whether
you have banana Weetabix poisoning, or if you are right but lost in the red
straw network, or if you are sort of right but kind of wrong but full of good
intentions, or if you are just a nutter.
You will be told you hold the answers, but there are no answers
inside. Just a howling wind, an
incessantly buzzing bee, a mass grave filled with the fallen, the ones who
foolishly entered into No Man’s Land armed only with a musket and grim
determination. A musket is no defense
against an ICBM. Grim determination and
a dollar will get you a ride on the bus.
Or it would have about twenty years ago.
Now you’d probably need a couple of bucks.
You
will be denied all knowledge. Knowledge
will die within you, to be replaced with rotting suspicions and wilting
hope. No seeds can be planted here. You will be left a slave to ambiguity, a
prisoner of doubt. Enjoy the banana Weetabix,
because there is no going back. And I do
like it. It’s quite nice with
yogurt. Not with milk. Must never eat cereal with milk. Never ever ever.
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