When Vanity no longer has any limits and Falsehood absolves itself from any wickedness, on the Stage of Consciousness capricious idols with their head in the sand fidget, cannibal
Archetypes searching for new identities, recite obsolete subjects that have become prescription.
So is it really true that the “fifteen minutes of fame” have now become exactly fifteen minutes of pure shame? I don’t know, and anyway it’s not us you’re talking about, right?
Thus Mister Shame and Miss Fame respond in unison, as if the thing did not regard them, and after a moment of pouting, they take a selfie, then take to their heels and go elsewhere, searching for the latest impressive background that makes them stand out like some mystical apparition and hides that annoying buzzing of flies..... bzzzzzz......bzzzzzz......bzzzzzz....
But at a certain point, the blinding spotlights of Truth switch on in unison, accompanied by angelic trumpets, and the monster and the harpy are disintegrated/crumbled/pulverised on the spot by the invincible force of pure perfection devoid of malice. Truth, in the end, is the only weapon of the Good, the Just, and the Beautiful, the only medicine that cleans the air, purifying the Spirit.
The only answer that we never stop seeking.