Madness
| Remember your roots. | ||
—Unknown | ||
This is madness. This is all madness. There is nothing but madness to be found amidst the madness, for there is nothing but madness.
Madness has many forms. It is the nature of dreams, desire, despair... it is the worlds we see and the soap bubbles through which we see them, distorted and twisted by the beautiful swirling colours. It will be glorious, raging, soft, sweet, violent, vibrant, unmoving and unceasing, everything...
And nothing.
Masks
We all see what we see, experience what we experience. Through all the forms of madness, there are invariably the ones we know, but these are not the ones that hold their allure. For us, our own little madnesses, our own little eccentricities, they are normal. They are sane. They are our own little worlds, our own little realities.
They hold little interest.
The allure lies with others. Alien. Unknown. Layer upon layer of intrigue and obfuscation, convoluted meaning, variable and yet committed. Those are the ones that are truly mad, and thus truly meaningful.
And meaningless.
Paradoxes
It is the paradoxes that makes it all so strange. The ironies, non-sequiturs, oddities, they do not follow, and they make it mad. Between all of their forms, the dreams, the worlds, the little madnesses that flit from mind to mind, all the power they hold lies in their paradoxical nature.
What were you expecting? Perhaps some violent, manic blurb lurching from object to object as a mind staggers from misfire to misfire? Perhaps some questions, some nonsense, some exemplification of sheer insanity?
Madness and nothing more
There will be none of that here. This is madness and nothing more. Quietly mad, for the lovely are more often the ones that are quietly nuts, not those with screaming and depravity but the ones with simple manic joy, straight-jacketed in the corner and humming merrily as the butterflies flutter by. It is not the direction the people usually take them, but that does not rule out the possibility and when they do, it is often rather glorious.
Like walking through a garden of little dreams.
And thus it has been committed to the madness... talking about Illogicopedia to an Uncyclopedian.
This
It is all the difference between explaining logic to an illogicopedian and explaining madness to an uncyclopedian, when they are, in fact, the very same thing. Perspectives and nothing more, nothing but madness at its most pure.
It is a realm of dreams. Each dream has meaning, or not, according to the situation in which it resides. Displace the dream to another world and the dream will change. Share a dream and it will become many, never the same, always different. There is as much logic to it as to a vampiric cabbage.
Logic, though... who needs logic amidst the madness?
And that is the funny thing. Logic is only what it is defined as. Define it and share it and it remains mostly the same, but only to those who know the definitions. Conversely, share the illogic... it is not defined. Never defined, for in whatever form it takes, it is still illogic, as meaningless or meaningful as any dream.
Not that any of this is not a lie.
Not that any of this is not true.
