Thought’s objection to deprivation echoes in my ears. Its muted screams fill an insatiable space.  It wants it so I open its gates, its eyes, my eyes. Thought wants light. Thought develops lights. Its camera misprints onto the strangest of nothings. Its camera is not broken, but the process is flawed. Light groans beneath its raping verdict, its mutilation at the hands of this limbless machine. Thought is light though, the result of it, the extension of it, the end of it and the beginning of it. Light does it to itself. Without light, there would be no objection to begin with.

-Enash Doog


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