Tertium Non Datur
All the sucked thumbs and held skirts and blankets so secure that they block out the sweep of the floodlights that could free them from the darkness that surrounds them. From the demons that keep hounding them and gouge their eyes until all they can see are rigid dichotomies of the sacred and the profane. Of salvation or shame with fuck all in between. The human impulse to explain hijacked: a controlled flight into terrain to ensure no passenger ever makes any connection between the proscription of mystery and their malaise. Tidy pairings of inverse binaries. We all seek meaning in our lives, but when every shadow of doubt is denied the sanctification of hatred thrives on every sucked thumb and held skirt and blanket so secure that they block out the sweep of the floodlights that could free us from the darkness that surrounds us. The demons that keep hounding us. We put out our own eyes and reproach the blind.