The story of the punk philosopher.

This is a story about a punk philosopher which wore his Mohican on his upper lip. One day, right after the new dawn, the punk philosopher had an undeniable calling to explore the mysterious deep forest which lay right outside the city wall. The forest was known to be the land of the holy and only they could see in the darkness. But the enlightened new dawn now promised, perhaps naively, to penetrate the thick foliage of the forest. Thus the punk philosopher amused by the promise of the new dawn started his endeavor of walking, and he walked for a long time among the ancient trees. Slowly, with determination his eyes began to adjust to the darkness and many say that he started seeing over and below the forest itself. Not only what was visible on the surface of the forest, but the roots, and perhaps future blossoms as well, things that the holy never really saw. But he also grew an understanding that no light can penetrate the deepest of abysses, not even the light of the new dawn. He understood that one needs courage to experiment, not only relative knowledge, to overcome ones self.
After a long time of walking on his solitary path, the punk philosopher suddenly encountered one of the holy hermits sitting on a rock. And spoke thus to the hermit, with a slight irony in his voice: Were can I find truth? And the hermit answered with a question: Do you believe in God almighty, my son? And the punk philosopher spoke thus to the hermit: God is dead! The hermit insulted by the comment stud up on his rock and spoke thus with a patronizing voice: It is ignorant of you to not believe in something! And the punk philosopher spoke thus to the hermit: You are absolutely right my friend, one wouldn’t be able to preserve oneself, (even his species that he belongs to, in the same respect) if one didn’t believe in anything. With no belief there is no movement and with no movement there is no life, and life itself is the movement of the ‘Will to Power’, if you like it or not… I believe so. But, I have to ask something before I go “It is terrible to die of thirst on the ocean. Does your truth have to be so salty that it no longer even-quench thirst?”
(from Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil.)

PS. Please, if you can, rate this story or perhaps comment on in because i am thinking of ending a essay about Nietzsche like this.
Ciao Bambino.