The Proverb

The greatest illusion and fable is that man in his bare hands is able to form into conclusion and build institution on the theoretically factual as if actual in nature. To create reprobate nomenclatures justified by the residing pride of narrow authority caused by intellectual superiority over the unspeaking ape, feeling unwhole without a sense of conquered and stolen control, claiming we have a soul and the lesser species are to stay in our bowl for consumption, inhaling with the assumption we are as God with our staff and our rod of judgement and love meant for that which has done enough for the deep stuff of our hearts. We are man but stand as idols as if our vitals are immortal and the normal rain and drought, pain and doubt cannot hold us. For there is confusion when dust is in fusion with vanity. For what we know is fleeting and bleeding from the pages only to be replaced by competing truth from the ages that only the youth bicker and shout about. What more can our brain know, for we are but a grain of sand upon the proverbial seashore, where every wave shifts us all around and what we found to be true becomes new, for how can one grain know the shore down the way, especially when all that we know changes and the now we know is not a tomorrow that is guarenteed. What do we truly know other than that which has been projected upon our senses, for that which convinces is what we've seen and heard, and it would be absurd and backward if I knew anything more than that: Fact!