This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
You have no monopoly on truth, says Daultil.
It wears a many coloured coat; each one picks out
colours for their own cloth. We sit like those in Plato’s
cave seeing shadows dance upon the wall and think those
shadows reality and the fire giving off flames some god
who cares. Daultil sips his flask of booze. You watch
him lift it to his lips. His words hang around your head like
flies about a horse’s eyes. Glunk glunk goes his flask
lifted by him to take his fill. He sets it down, wipes his lips
and says, Pilate never knew the truth, he thought it just a
random choice of this or that of this sad world’s philosophies;
he could not see beyond his nose or dull thought’s reach.
You keep your silence, watch as Daultil undoes the buttons
of his pants and pees, his fingers having DTs shake the piss upon
his pants but he doesn’t noticed or if he does he doesn‘t care just
lifts his head like some dozy bull and looks at you with vacant stare.