Meursault, Ossídio Gaspar, The Judge-Penitent, Vridd Skoggen

The Judge starts…

There’s something inside of me.
An autumn of old age.
A summer of fortune.
A moment of alienation.
A monumental strength.
Something that just is, growing into me.
A resolve.

 

Resolve of the complete understanding
The man I want to be
The consciousness I’m proud to have
The knowledge I wish to gain
The being of me the best of me the me I mould
and understand

 

I am the man who walks but fails to talk,
Who minces and jives,
Who falls and strives.

I am the man who ducks but doesn’t dive,
Who breathes but is barely alive,
Who feels but never cries.

Irrespective of all this I am still a man,
And I will continue do with my life what I can.

 

The question of who I am lives in the eyes of all those I question and receive no answer, or receive answers I cannot understand. This is something I can ask, this is something of me, my limit; and their existence is the very limitation of mine. But what am I to them, after all? I must see all limits, and my own must be for me to care about, and those of others I shall try to find beyond me. Where I am not, where I do not live; for it is only there that my limits end and my answers are awaiting to be understood.

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