Wonderful

He had the most wonderful thought in his head and no matter how much filth and grime he for some reason would cover himself in he could always think of this wonderful thought, and how pure he would then think himself or at least try and think himself. But for some malicious reason its power faded, who knows — perhaps through overuse — which left a quandary. Should he, to remain in bliss rather than in grime, try and keep this thought ever in mind — to ward off the grime — or should it be kept treasured in the dark, so to speak, purposely not thinking of it, not dirtying it with this overuse, but, and yet, ever dimly aware of its existence, its glowing secretly and gloriously in the dark; and then when most needed, when feeling I suppose most grimy, to produce it and vanquish all foes, however falsely great and powerful they had appeared!

But in time does even the idea, great and lofty, rather than glow triumphantly, sink into the muck also? And if it does, who knows, perhaps all the better. The muck is truth! Why try and overcome it? And maybe that’s all the idea was all along — the muck and a lure into the muck.

In Abstentia Out

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