Did I know you would read this? Did I write it for you? Is its purpose to show or to tell? Who is speaking to you now? Only these words. These words have been put here to announce a spectacle. You, sitting there, you who are reading this, you are the culmination of the event. You are its intial and final truth. This event does not exist without you to witness it.

Why are you here now? Why do you remain? Why are you seeing this syllable, and this? Did you aim to be sedated by information? Enlightened, challenged? By this point, you can see that these words have nothing to give. How many times a day do you do this? This is the unquenchable thirst. This is the symptom of the worry that there is no truth in information, or more generally, that there is no knowledge inside of you that is strong enough to deter the offenses of other information.

The reality of this information makes it irrelevant. As soon as you read it, it ceases to be information.

As you are watching, these words are erasing other ones. You are allowing these words to colonize your thoughts. Machinery we like to assume is productive has been subpeonaed to process this wasteful excess, to chew it up and dissect it so that some crystal of sustenance might result.

The spectacle you have created is your own entertainment. You could, as easily, be speaking to yourself. What would it take for you to divest yourself of the need to seek? Which information is more appealing: that which hits your mind like a rock dropped down an empty well, or that which produces the ping of resonance? That is, do you get more pleasure from hearing verballized what you already suspected?

There is no meaning whatsoever here. There is no information, new or otherwise. This is me taking your information away. Don't you have the right to be angry?

I have not even left you the role of the critic. What is here to judge? You could be irritated or placated, but you cannot make assesments without being subjective. This is only what it is. This is only me repeating myself. Your memories and identity are meaningless and impotent against these words. The only part of you informing this spectacle is your presence. You are allowing yourself to be a piece of Tupperware.

Information will give you nothing. Information makes no promise to you. It disdains and teases you. For information, you exist only that the information may continue to exist.

Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Are you still reading?
Is this what you were looking for?

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