To the Realists

My dear friends, who call yourselves Realists and believe that the world is exactly as it appears to you, I say to you, do not be so quick to boast of your sobriety and lack of passion and fantasy. You may see reality unveiled before you, but in your unveiled state, you are still infused with passion and emotions. Your love for what you call reality is but an old, primitive love, derived from the passions and infatuations of previous generations. In every feeling, in every sense impression, there lies a portion of this love mixed with fantasy, prejudice, irrationality, ignorance, and fear. Look at that mountain, that cloud, what is real in them? Can you remove the phantasm and human elements from them? I ask you, can you forget your history, your origin, your past, your schooling? For there is no reality for us, nor for you, my dear Realists. We are not so different, and our desire to transcend drunkenness is just as respectable as your belief in your sobriety.


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