Death and Life are in the Power of the Tongue

“Stop, stop, stop… I wanna go home, take off this uniform and leave the show, I’m waiting in this cell because I have to know, have I been guilty all this time.” – Pink Floyd

The faceless man brought me dead white philosophers. One after another he threw them into the giant hole that served as my abode. Eventually the bodies piled up one upon another allowing for my great escape. You might think it would have been much easier if the guy could have thrown me a rope instead. Perhaps he was afraid that he would have been yanked into my isolation or he needed me to see firsthand that which awaits us in the end: grinding poverty (and its associated costs), chronic pain, disability, or disease, trauma, shame, loneliness, unhappiness, frailty, and decrepitude.
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In any event these philosophers have served an important role in my waking life. From a metaphysical safe haven to an earthly creature in service of blood exchange and back into an escape from reality through an endless array of pleasure boats. Turning the wheel of samsara with every step forward in hopes of something better and more sublime, while forgetting about the actual worms that take the form of idealisms of various kind. Empty promises with soldiers stemming from every walk of life, creating fresh enemies so as to bleed them with their knives.
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Now in my own defense a hammer, taken from the final corpse that enabled my release; namely, from Nietzsche himself. The faceless one couldn’t turn a blind eye to my treachery for he had no eyes to see with. At first there was darkness all around us. My new fond goal was to get away from the stench of the dead so my feet took me as far as the outer wall itself. At this stage, being an I and all, I hit the wall with my hammer and heard a thunderous opening. There lay my brother Able on the ground with his head broken open with the universe protruding from this chasm.
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Though my eyes were blind to my trespass both shame and guilt spewed from the wound. It enabled me to see everything in black and white. How could this be my fault whispered a voice from behind me. Imagine my shock as I turned around to discover my head upon the shoulders of the faceless man. You pirate, give me back my head! My icy words fell into a fractured peace. First he smiled, then laughed and after that he struggled to find the composure to say these words:
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Life and death are placed before you. If you choose life then the sacrifice of your brother will have been in vain but if you choose death then I shall bare your burden and crime, until the end of time. Either way the turmoil and chaos continues forever, so the choice is whether you wish to be fully aware of the ordeals that await you or to remain oblivious to the consequences of your actions.
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Behind me the dead philosophers went up in flames with a lyrical song: ‘If I close my eyes forever. Will it all remain unchanged? If I close my eyes forever. Will it all remain the same?’ Lo and behold the faceless one and I switched places. A phenomenon more freak of nature than sound. Now in place of armies of destruction, we are consumed with a kinder yet slower decaying malice, oh my f—king Christ, and the worms ate into his brain.