Disambiguation

Achilles: I proclaim victory! I believe! I believe in death.

Tortoise: You are a rich bastard and a foul bitch! You elude all, at least half the time! Your mind is a dark labyrinth full of incense and scathe.  The Veda that you are reading has overwritten your foul mind, it is even fouler now. Last night you got ridiculously drenched in the rain, came in and did not utter a word. You walked dripping into his room and trammelled him, then you just watched. You watched!

Achilles: My dear dearest of them all, you know all my virtues and desires! You understand me. You know how I despise the ordinary average of contentment, and you know where I find ecstasy. You are right about the Veda that I have been reading, but I have no mind, and what is not, can not be, either written or overwritten!

Tortoise: Waiting. You wait in the rain, and you wait in the storm. You watch, you torture. This is not Lisbon, and you will always have Oxford, but we have not been there for a while. You toss them and litter the trash, and you start on a new page each time that I look at you. It is all the reality that there is, the one in your mind. Nothing. Still, here you return, and you return again and again.

Achilles: You are a presumptuous little half of nothing! You are an orphan picked up from the gutter. You despise me and you can not live without me. Yet, time come, you will enter the darkness of my dungeon. You do not walk with me in the rain. You do not know the flesh that satiates me. You understand me?

Tortoise: You dance and you curse the words. It is just the words. You do not see the people, and you will never care to see the people. You gut them just for the words. Do you ever really touch them? Do you know touch? I know you do not love. If you would love, I would be the one that you love. Oh! Not love again, not this silly song and dance of sense and sensibility, promise and adultery! I understand you.

Achilles: Doubt you, I do not. I chose to ignore, and do. You are clear and irrational. You are my insanity. If I could love, I would need to know what love is before I were to choose. You, you were stripped of doubts in the gutter, and you refused to pick them up along with all the other rubbish. Your body is not spent…

Tortoise: You are coming around. Corners, bends, tempests and torments, and you are coming around! You blinding fool! You are coming around! You still leave them in pain. You still leave them to rot in their flesh, but you are coming around.

Achilles: You see me. I can not blind you. I close my eyes and recall the gold diggers of the past. Gold digging always serves aesthetics, and those gold diggers have been inspiring. Words, more words, and then again words.

Tortoise: You believe. I wonder who is the old fool now, you or me? Death does not do us part, does it? You could blind me with your belief.

Achilles: I killed a man once. Twice. Tried it again, and I believed in death. He laid there slain, I watched.

Tortoise: Serry up to the epistemic of turmoil. We are not finished yet.

 

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