The idea

Every thought, every emotion, every sentiment, is a culmination of thousands of intricate subconscious events, vying to form a large scale memetic popular fashion, that becomes in its turn, the final thought, that arises from our subconscious, to our conscious, and is interpreted in its way, by our actions. Behind every thought is a prosperous and happy Victorian era London. Gathering from across myriad sources, a smorgasbord of ideas and opinions, all seemingly new. The self respecting high society begins to gossip about this strange new set of ideas that the proles are suddenly taken away by. In hushed whispers, these rumors begin to abound within the continuous interchange of a lot of irrelevant messages, that we call parties, takes place. As things add up in this ear, and that one, the dominant idea becomes the fashionable taboo, that all must aspire to. It takes place in an opposite direction. Fashions always travel from the upper echelons to the lower, and then pass away in the passage of contemporality. But the dark and the disturbing can always travel from a trodden vox populi to the diplomacy of the risen. At a point, this idea, having travelled across myriad paths, and multitudinous directions, to its apotheosis, is at the end of eternity. It becomes our thought. Prior to action, as we see fit. The mind, is, like Borges's Library of Babel, and endless series of units. His, are libraries. Mine, are cities of a passed age.