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The cold, dark air smothered the lonely hunter. His body a force of unbelievable, yet unknown strength. This strength however, was not physical, but mental. This hunter was no hunter of game, yet knowledge, a food that feeds all but the unwilling. For as his fathers foretold, he fought no fight but fought a fight. A fight of fierce capacity, a fight of fine embellishment. For as the stock broker does, for as the prime minister does, for as the man of science does. For all who fight this fight arrive at the seat of fertility and happiness. For all who achieve victory vanquish the vallience of their villains. Yet there are no villains, only the disliked. Only the feared, only the mocked, only the scarce. Only the ones who win, yet what is to win? To win is to lose for another, as there is an equal reaction. But beyond the capacity of a word, there is a limitless capacity for another. Another which in turn is applied so commonly, another which in might is applied so uneffortlessly. This word does not exist, yet there are words in which their meaning is sealed? Is this rule of thumb false? Is the reaction simply a play in which the lead role needs no supporting actors? In which the protagonist can defeat the antagonist without there ever being any of the two? For what is a sin to one without sin? For what is black to white? Why, in turn, is it necessary there always be a negative to a positive? Why can't the neutrality of something be understood? Questions with no answers: a paradox. Paradoxical statements are ones with no meanings, but to have meanings for one is simply under appreciation from another. For ancestors told of the endless paradox, but never grasped the effects in the future of their options. Is it fate or simply coincidence that the ancestors of our past are represented in thought. What greater paradox than thought is there? Thought plays us as puppets, and tells us what to think. Yet isn't thought the collective imagination of thinking? Who can understand all, yet know nothing? Thought can, but thought does not understand anything. Thought takes the meaning and twists it to where the sentient can grasp at the stated. Light to dark, heads to tails, true to false. All is represented in thought. The negatives and the positives, meaningless is a statement to sentiments, but every word is analysed in thought. The sentient goes on in life, leaving thought alone, as the hunter who fights. Yet the hunter who fights knows more than the sentient who leaves thought. The hunter is granted the ancestral rite, and continues to fight the paradoxcial fight of equal but opposite reaction. The hunter is granted a rite higher than all others are granted, and the hunter is rewarded while the sentient falls in the name of unappreciated thought. For everyone to be this hunter, and gain this ancestral rite of winning is impossible, as not enough will take on the paradoxcial quest of vanquishing underapreciation. The ancestors will be carried on through thought by the hunter, and the sentiments will be left with nothing but defeat.

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