Justice193

I am the slate, the one that appear blank, until you’ve spent some time around it, and begin to figure out what it’s purpose is.

Find the writing, unravel the mysteries of what this slate represents.

The slate knows what it is, and will tell you if asked; the slate cannot speak, it is what you make of it, but it has a purpose for itself, and that will only be revealed with time and diligent study.

I am the slate, the one who’s writing is so fine, so small, that a mere observance would never tell you what it represents, what purpose it may be for.

the slate is ever changing, ever growing, it appears to have nothing more than simple concepts upon it’s face, they grow and multiply even as you observe them, they become more complex, the writing finer, the etchings and marks that were always present reveal themselves slowly over time, and you find yourself constantly searching previous paragraphs not because you know not what was written, but rather because it has changed.

the nature of the slate never changes, it has one goal, one purpose, discovering this is a life long process, one that requires much effort, and the purpose becomes tainted by your own, the slate protects itself by allowing you to gain your own opinions of it;

I am the slate, make no mistake, I am what is written upon my face, the question now is: what do you make of it?

I am not a slate, a slate is someone else, the slate is me, without it I do not exist, the the slate is less important than a slate; and so the slate studies, and recommends the study of, just such a slate.