Paincourt Antique

Title: Summum Bonum I am Joking

In my life, I have often wondered about the actual amount of phlegm I have spat up or ruminated. If am under the jurisdiction of the fabled cave allegory as told by Plato then I have a minor problem. I have only seen shadows and they are all alive, more than alive, possibly overwhelming.

All of these shadows spit up phlegm…they chew on it like a second meal and then spit the snotgoo in my face. Fuck them.

'Plato remarks that if someone after ascending to the sunshine, went back into the cave he would be unable to see properly because of the darkness, and so would make himself "ridiculous"; while if he tried to free another and lead him up to the light, the prisoners (of the cave, those not enlightened,) who love the darkness and consider the shadows the true reality, would put the offender to death, if they could but catch him.' Well I feel obligated to tell you that sometimes the shadows are reality. So much for Plato. What kind of allegory would he have written if he had met these shadows? I bet he never met one that could cough up phlegm.

Symbolically speaking of course.

What kind of person is it that believes in these illusory shadows that hide the truth and the light from them? This person is a browser; "I'm only looking sir, no thank you I do not require any assistance shopping. However, I am a bit interested in this falls issue of your monkey fucking midget catalogue." I personally never bought into the scheme of things. I loosely observed. I am not saying that I have ever really payed attention…I browsed.

Few salesmen ever entered my humble abode without realizing shortly thereafter that they wished they hadn't. I entered their salespitch with an insane conversation. "Don't you listen a second to what you hear coming out of the bedroom back there, they had it coming." Sometimes I would be silent through the entire salespitch- not even a peep coming from me. Then I would mumble something nervously like, "I also have something for sale; the sun, which is currently shining brightly from my asshole." Or some other inane bullshit, Although this time I feel I might have taken my little indulgences too far.

Whatever comes must go. Words come and go, I come and go, salesmen and women must also come and go. Shadows are salesmen and both are browsers, window shoppers, mimicking, following. Looking for the next big deal, looking for the next fart handle to present to their families on birthdays and holidays.

Waiting for the next shadow of guilt to cast on all of humanity in the form of a plastic bass that hangs on the wall and sings, "don't worry, be happy." Shadows are; television, dreams, beautiful women, ugly women, children, old men, violence, peace, drugs, music, and the moon. All shadows, all things, all of the time. We get to the point my shadow and me. We know what to do. We remember playing together as children in fields of sunshine. We remember the first fuck in the sunshine when youth and beauty and the sun made a good combination. We remember everything except, the darkness.

I believe that is where the confusion arose. Why did I ask the shadows about the darkness? A shadow is darkness in the light, it knows more about darkness than the blackest midnight. Those bastards can fuck off; it is their fault that I did all of those bad things. Now I suffer, do the shadows ever suffer? I do not know, they won't even talk to me anymore. They are the ones that told me to do it. I had no choice. I picked up the hammer and I cracked open the salesman's shiny bald cranium. I just fucking had to.
After that, everything became too bright. I was bathed in light that let me see the shadows and their secrets. It was then that they spat upon me,
mocking me, laughing at me. We do not console each other anymore; we don't cajole each other. We are now both afraid to die. Just like the salesman did.

So I have decided that in order to stop the shadows, I will stop myself and they look uninterested in the whole plan. But it is a plan none the less and it must be carried out in an expeditious manner. They may decide to befriend me again. I am witless against their charms. I am the follower, the ultimate follower.

In my life, I have often wondered about the actual amount of phlegm I have spat up or ruminated. If am under the jurisdiction of the fabled cave allegory as told by Plato then I have a minor problem.

2010 Addendum: I am not sure why I wrote this.