We were all seeking a certainty that the world inevitably denied us, standing with an insecure footing, hoping to navigate this inexplicable present. But doubleness and duplicity were conspiring, hoping to silence this search for integrity, and the planes of vision were constantly revolving, changing and shifting their positions until there was only a void of all potential and possibility.
So language would fulfill this absence, where instability would be shown in puns, paradoxes, riddles and quotations. Questions would fulfill a dramatic function, pulling at and pushing towards the essence of everything we wanted to say. Words would be an index to it all, to all the importance we had no other means of expressing.
But then I understood, remembering that language itself tended to be a sort of apparition. There were the verbs seem and see, neither gaining a stable meaning, only working themselves around concrete definition. I knew the problematics of reality and appearance, a discourse so dense in disparity that no affiliation or intimacy could ever be forged.
The world was simply a backdrop to this confusion and absurdity.
And a lie was the surest way to the truth.