I could have shown you a photograph.... but I rather you imagined what photograph I would have taken.

It seems to me that we are philosophising about what we are seeing incessantly. What is almost adversely shoved in front of our retinas we’re regurgitating in some kind of morbid falsifying manner, which isn’t shedding any new light. Rather, we’re capturing our internal indolent instinct to replicate by dribbling out what we’ve seen before, and heard a million times over. So I’m left wondering why we leave so little ideological value to the minds eye. Do we no longer treasure our own thoughts, or do others seem more enticing, has everything already been said and done? The flower bloomed, then faded. The ship sailed, then sunk. The lover loved, then wept. Still, I wonder of the tales inbetween.