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 ^{(it's beta!)}

“Knowledge fluctuates and changes as consistently as the seasons. What was once objectively known as a flat world became subjectively known as a round world. The inconsistencies in human knowledge prove that objectivity isn’t valid. There may be means by which knowledge (in an earthly view) is accepted by a large group of people, but there is always the subjective thinker. And to say that there is such thing as universal thinking…”

He went on and on about nothing with his skepticism. Rather, he rambled on and on about the world with his self. He had an incredible amount of self. His voice was calm, but his hair was a shaggy mess. His stance was firm but his eyes were wandering. His posture was confident but his Converse were crying wrecks. His simple, black converse. How clichéd. Everyone was wearing Converse then, it was popular. But why were his so different? The rubber toes were scuffed and dingy, yet it seemed through ways other than normal wear.

“God, he’s so young,” I thought to myself once I brought my eyes back to his face.

He was saying something about “society’s lack of true knowledge”, implying that human beings were stupid, dazed animals; wandering around aimlessly. Or maybe he was stating that we were blind, cowardly creatures. Either way, I heard him mention Plato’s Allegory of the Cave before my mind was saturated with thoughts of his shoes again. They seemed to carry a huge amount of weight. Not physical weight, though. The lips of the shoes screamed stress and anxiety.

Then, he shifted his feet. I looked back up at his face, this time specifically to his eyes.

“He’s not so young after all,” I concluded.

“…although it’s not purely society’s inflections that wear on the individual’s sense of knowledge. Ironically, human beings are individuals, thusly interpreting what they get from society and personalizing this ‘knowledge’, almost as one would personalize their fashion style.”

He looked right at me as he said that. It was almost as if he could tell I was thinking about his external appearance, his shoes. They were so worn out. What in the world went on in this kid’s head? He was standing at the front of the room lecturing to us about knowledge. He was nineteen at the most. I was beginning to feel insulted; I mean…a nineteen year old was telling me that I had no knowledge? And that there will never be any way in this world I will obtain it? His shoes were right, though. I was below him. I was the cause of the pain his shoes displayed through plastic scars. I was the death of a bright, youthful sole. His Converse were dingy and tired because of prying eyes like mine. I continued throwing the invisible knives of criticism at him. At an invisibly fast pace, too. All while he threw “there is no objective truth” this and “contradictive relativism” that back at me. Invisibly, of course. I held the shield of ignorance, after all. According to me, I had knowledge and scar-less soles, while he had consciousness and blaring wounds.

I looked down at my feet, “…I need new shoes.”