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The Death of Meaning By Breeze Of Common Wind
Stephen Sandoval, Jackson Heights, NYC
January 28, 2006
All the time you were looking for Nietsche on the street corner of
your hood.
You were looking for depth of character in the gutters of your
familiar avenue.
I tell you that I sought depth insatiably for so long and all I found
was decadence even in me.
The philosophers in this town simply eat, sleep and return to eating
again.
Poor boy, forgive yourself and realize that in some ways technology is
the new god.
And where technology cannot fill the void, there are substances that
alter waking mood.
Those philosophers are still eating and occasionally seeking some
meaning in vain.
This meaning might bring them to their third cup of coffee with nice
afternoon rush.
Is it really chicken because it tastes like it? Do these words bring
me any gratification?
The ones whose profession it is to help the deranged seem to be most
in need of help.
They have sufficient pith to convince even themselves that their
legacies are worthwhile,
But their emotional sciences are made of salt and will crumble by any
breeze of common wind.
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