EPT_______________________________________________________
"Lift for me one finger, and I will move the Earth for you. Give me one glance, and I will forever dive into your soul. Show me a sign; I will be here."
Odd words-- words that one might believe. Who knows better anyway? Believing, unbelieving, who can really tell? There is no right; there is no wrong-- only useful.
If he was useful, he was right in the eyes of the world. Newton, The Light Bulb, Gravity-- all more useful than nothingness. What once was useful may now be obsolete-- geocentrism, alchemy, but not God. God drives still the heart to find its weary center, there or not, He affects change. He bursts through and drives feeling, good or evil, into the hearts of man, and give them willingness to act. For good or evil, man acts, and acts alone; without God, but only with His willingness. The eternal thirst for Wisdom's treacherous fount leads many men to madness-- should it come to that, remember only this: every act of evil is of ignorance or apathy.
This, of course, was all in the ethereal nether of the Mind of Moore. Moore could not understand, but still believed these thoughts-- followed them with the hopes of leaving the Earth with a little more knowledge than before. Moore attended Holy Day. He sat in silence and mulled over thoughts of the previous night. During the Celebration, Moore brooded over these thoughts, and was glad that the State could not yet read minds. It was forbidden, to think.
The State was All; Holy, Wise, Beautiful. It was woman; it was man; it was conscious and conscience and God. It was to think for Moore, and Moore was to be grateful, and mostly Moore was grateful, but not today. Today Moore sat in silence, brooding over the holy words:
Every act of evil is of ignorance or apathy.
They might have belonged in the Text of the State. Perhaps Moore would have checked, but Holy Day was over, and all unholy thoughts but one vanished.
Moore walked home through the cracked and broken streets; Moore saw the State wrenching a discarded crust of bread from a Wretched, burning the crust and flogging the Wretched. It squirmed and cried, but did not retaliate. Moore thought again and blinked. Moore crossed the street and saw a body lying on a bloody block of pavement; whether the State or another Wretched was responsible, Moore did not know. Moore thought again and blinked.
At home, there was only food, light, and shelter. At home, there was no color, no other life, no semblance of pleasure. At home, there was a bed, a pillow, and covers, but no books. At home, there was a chair, a table, but no pen, no paper. There was a razor, a toothbrush, a comb, a shower, but no Cross, no Star of David. Moore, no longer ignorant, thought again.
Moore lay on the bed that night, and prayed to the State. No longer ignorant, Moore recognized how much was missing, saw the world for what it was, examined evil, and smelled its foul stench. Moore knew evil and blinked.
