16 RUBBLES OF PHILOSOPHIES

16 RUBBLES OF PHILOSOPHIES

A trillion of trillions of years later …

My days were finishing, but he(she) needed only some more, per years he(she) had studied the Mekhanes, driven to despair I altered the mechanism of one, ultimately not since(as,like) manage to revert his(her,your) mortal mission. It(he,she) would gain(earn) a few seconds more of life, days to think, it was a minuscule revolt to the omnipotent Thecnetos, while my meats were returning to be re-composed by the rescheduled Mekhanes, a voice in my mind started speaking, woken up by the disturbing letter:
" How will they see the world L and M? ". " Will they see it with the same colors with which I see them? Or will his(her,your) minds organize otherwise the bath of stimuli that receive his(her,your) senses? " " What will feel to be different? " " What difference will be in one feeling, being different? "
I am a thing but, a thing that perceives other things? The things, they have to be, without conscience of being. My I it(he,she) sees colors, feels textures and thinks. But to think and to feel was everything opposite of being a thing, since these - I believe(create) - neither think they do not even feel. And as the matter it is the only(unique) thing that exists in the nature, it(he,she) was meaning that to have I was not to be a part(report) of the nature, was not to be.

While the upset Mekhanes saves me, I look on the sand at a beautiful and cracked warrior of stone, his(her,your) left arm this one eaten away of an amorphous scar, fallen(fallen due) mouth arrives does million years. I sit(feel) his(her,your) coldness, see his(her,your) gray colors. When I stop seeing or touching it it, this warrior is without color or temperature, but it(he,she) continues being. What means that this color and temperature are secondary features of the warrior. While I do not see it still(yet) it(he,she) is, without need to be perceived. Because of it the most intimate kernel of the things is invisible. And the color that I see or the texture that I sit(feel) are not the statue. I am at the time a blind person.

What it(he,she) puts opposite to my me, only is a graph drawn by my mind to orientate myself in the darkness of another world, the world of the things that cannot feel, the unthinkable ones, the matter in his(her,your) inhuman reality, his(her,your) legitimate reality how will he be really the transparent being of that voluminous giant of stone marked by this scar?
The real world is woven of a substance without color, without form. It(he,she) will be, I think, that the senses are too narrow channels, for which it(he,she) cannot spend(pass) the world up to us. So we would say that ours I it(he) is alone, surrounded of if same. Forms that replace the things of out and help them represent, replacing them, without managing to know her directly. Nor the man across the Emissary manages to know the Thecnetos, which is impossible to be known.
Later the voice in me, he(she) was quiet. Was this voice I? Though it(he,she) it was, it(he,she) had to stop thinking and returning to the inertia. Soon.
But the long loneliness and an unlimited time to think as the only(unique) possible activity made me fall down again. Surrounded with the absurd real world, it(he,she) was dreaming of the perfection and coherence of the transmundo, which across the letter it(he,she) had glimpsed. A hot world of coherences was floating far from me.
I will return à la carte, which(who) was containing abundant neologisms. The rest was understandable only by half(?half), but nonetheless(though) it was a miraculous accident, the most valuable piece of investigation(research). For her(it) it(he,she) would know something certain on the life in this beyond(farther), and might - without danger - investigate in my ultra-remote neighbors.
It was not important if he(she) her(it) was not dealing with this moment and it(he,she) stopped worrying the evidence of a mistake in the Thecnetos. My life is saturated of inexplicable facts and of apparent mistakes. Being the life since(as,like) it(he,she) is for the modern man, only an expert might distinguish the normal of the madness or of the dreams. To give him(her) sense to what come our eyes we lack science and even superstition.