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The desert-dweller lived with arid ground and thirsty mouth
for a long time. But upon the charm of one new moon
and with inspiration from the correspondent stars,
it began its walk for water.

Ten days past, and the desert-dweller heard a voice.

"See you not the ripples of the water ahead?
See you not to your obligation? Your principles?
That maxim which Kant bore upon the world,
that which mustn't be shirked off by any living person
lest they be ripped of their rationality and humanity?"

Our desert dweller spoke forward,
into the wind.

"Is it, I?
I, the rational agent?
I, the enlightened animal?
I, the sinner? The ascetic? The dog?
Is it I--who must give up my bread for the cause?
I will not."

The desert-dweller shuffled along.

After ten more days, the voice made itself known once again.

"See you not the ripples of the water ahead?
See you not the virtues of democracy?
A strong state to bring prosperity to
a nation of free citizens?"

Our desert-dweller spoke into the wind ahead.

"If you shall have your state, know this:
know that when I levy your officers pleasantries,
it is my ownness that abuses my train-glazed gaze
upon the fool that will stay me unmolested
in my property and data.

For all your negligence,
I and my own will profit."

The desert-dweller shuffled along.

In time perhaps these sands of ticking clocks may justly strike
upon the desert-dweller a hedonistic vision:

"See you not the ripples of the water ahead?
See you not the virtue of the skin? Of the smoke, and of sloth?
Has the Demiurge cursed your senses? Is it piety and narcissism
that keep you from indulging in your sensuality?"

Our desert-dweller responded.

"Surely in these cosmically-humiliating circumstances,
these haunted inquiries, these phantasms, continued ad infinitum,
the lost solipsist will fall into a deep and dreamless sleep."

The desert-dweller sneezed violently, then shuffled along.

What am I watching?