"The mental myth of christmas", I think as I open the stocking, christmas morning of my 23rd year. There's the whole delusion that swamps the children and a hoard of adults who have rite passaged. They've come out of the other side, the linear voyage of discovery, now omniscient in land beyond naivety.
"collective arrogance" - it smashes my brain in epiphany. Imagine a single soul who acted thus, so convinced he smirked and patronised those of difference.
"you better not be so sure of yourself young Timmy" I hear an old Granny say, right before a sentence tumbles from the deep pharangenal - out in self-deconstructing contradiction. I see Timmy twitch and another little fire goes out.
That what spins in your head goes! - the fundamental statement of the sum of all fact. That, the design of the mind; rests the scape of reality and no depth of sophistication in the delusion, nor belonging in an unfounded community acts as evidence to the contrary.
The Moors crumble out of existence in the flesh and I see for the first time that spirit of the Moors never was a "real" thing to be found; erfunden nicht entdeckt. It was there to be invented; a fantastical flare of the mind in genius. This is why I climb; for in the moment of perfection you invent a something only from the mind. In a mindscape and world where all must be cast in doubt, a mooring point of objectivism comes as a standing tree in a flood does. I know my mind twitches fact and that which I invent hangs an extension of it.