In Tanjong Pagar’s confused meanderings, a thought glides like a slalom runner through the path of foolishness. While a sewing machine clatters, connecting the fabrics of reality with the yarn of madness, a shadow whispers to me
“Public credit is suspicion asleep.” 1
In my subconscious, a labyrinth comparable to the hidden magma chambers under the earth, whose precise location eludes science, my thoughts slip away from all logic. They dance in unfathomable depths where no method could ever bring clarity.
I reach for the remote control, a sceptre of illusions, and change the channels of my thoughts without ever encountering enlightenment. Where once the laws of physics were applied to all sorts of things, the mysterious now reigns. The last particle of reason has been lost.
Thomas Paine ↩︎