The Doctor With No Eyeball

It seems as though an Emersonian rally cry continues to be heard in the valleys and precipices of dialogue and debate as one listens to the American echo singing, “ Oh where, oh where has my transcendental eyeball gone? Oh where, oh where can it be?”

Truth has lost its capital ‘T’ and has been replaced by a morphing dessert that only Bill Cosby could hawk. This jello-esque reality is so tightly woven around the spool of nothing that its flavor seems to escape even the most delicate palate. What’s right for you and what’s right for me do not necessarily have to be married to the Law of Non-Contradiction, they only need be passing lovers who once held a vested interest in each other but who have now found nothing more than redundancy and repulsion – it’s that looking in the mirror and seeing what is and what isn’t that causes the butterflies to subside.

I find it all too curious to simply turn my head in dismay, and yet I find it all too nauseous to meditate too fully on the death of Dr. Absolute. He was always a loner and a rightfully autonomous proposition that never needed approval. His existence was always self-evident as even the Great Founding Fathers eloquently Declared in our rooted Independence. Divinely true was He and necessarily moving in His prime. Absolute is immortally residing in uber-space for even though the plebeians have executed Him and the Nietzcheronians have continued to celebrate with hypocritical dirge, the doctor will always be in.

One cannot kill or destroy or mutilate what is intrinsically true and right and beyond the bounds of a mortal blade. Certain realities are merely ignored at a high cost. My refusal to admit the explosive rigging of my front door by hostile enemies does not negate the fact that my faulty cognition will lead to seeing myself in Technicolor as tiny self-fragments spatter my splintered walls in high-speed definition. Certain things are, indeed, independent of one’s opinion.