The moon is too real.
There is a keyhole to the inner self, a place where we see all and see nothing. A crack in time where all and nothing exist together and the darkness is light. The place between of being and not being, trying to materialise and freedom attained.
Every generation believes that it must battle unprecedented pressures of conformity; that it must fight harder than any previous generation to protect that secret knowledge from which our integrity of selfhood springs. Some of this belief stems from the habitual conceit of a culture blinded by its own presentism bias, ignorant of the past’s contextual analogues.
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So many times in modern society, the poor, lonely and the introverts are not listened to as they should be, even though they have so many meaningful and profound things to say. Instead, it often happens that people much rather prefer listening to the loud and the extroverts, because their “noise” is more popular and less weird. Is more familiar and less distant. Is more cheerful and less sad. Is more alive and less…dead.
But, also because it is also more fake and less real?