Monday, October 12, 2009

As the euphoria of acceptance descends into the neurotic mediocrity of self-doubt, the poet confronts a stark realization: that moods are puppet strings, and the essence of consciousness is to be jerked around.

One must ask, then, as many have, from Sappho and Hypatia to Nietzsche and Skinner, what devious and multifaceted entity holds the reins?

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