The modern decorations of the truth

As, i write this, i sit on hard plastic, while my words lay in an algorithmic box, lying on a wooden plank, supported by iron stands, while of course, I think, surrounded by four walls of hard concrete, with a three blade fan above me, cooling concrete and myself down, but then, this is not the modern age is all about. Not the money that that supports all of this, not the power of each one them to hold themselves or each other together, or the faith of mine in these artifacts of human accomplishments, or a much complicated faith in life itself.

Yet, I want my words to not be bricks, concrete, and plastic, algorithm, wood, iron or plastic. While all these carry a dead-weight of thought to them, the thought escapes the artifacts and establishment, like the thought escaped the nuclear bomb. The very thought, that escaped its own invention of men and machines.

But elastic it is; the thought, like its inventions. It would be unwise of course to think of the elasticity of the nuclear bomb, of youth, crime, or the elasticity of progress, or development. Elasticity ensures lastness, meaning one which elasts, lasts. The very core of modern economics, politics, is the very core of modern corruption, modern values. So the idea or the question is; can the objective elasticity be given admirable aims?
 

So as I create the head and legs of this piece, there still remains a stomach to be filled. The exonerating food for thought, referred to as the truth. As thought itself is under suspicion, the truth must then lie outside it. Outside of thought, not as well protected as the thought itself, it is but beyond suspicion.

We do not then; seek to redistribute the forms of modern truth; the power, money, or the faith, but truth itself, ancient and modern.  The truth then, will set a long table, with more iron to support them, more plastic for men to accommodate, more comfort beyond the in- escaping concrete. The truth will then, be as elastic as the lies, or more.

 As I sit, or rather rest on hard plastic, surrounded by iron, wood and concrete, my thought is not a party to them, my thought do not prevent what lies beyond inventions that comfort me, it rather puts in a question I have no answer to.

But inventions are supposed to be answers, not questions, yet they manage the bear the anti-thesis in them, or the over-bearing thought of the inventor, that the last man will not, ever know about his excellent creation.