(no subject)
The Thrashing
I look at you
I see the framework
an intelligent design
your chassis
made of culture and words
It's polished
a perfect game
we've agreed to play
you hid something long ago
you hid it so well but you could
possibly find it again
if we weren't so goddamned civilized
What goal do we pusuit
that would have us suffer in consent
Something at the end of this
pulling us towards it
are we building something greater than us
and what does it want from us
Annata
pure awareness
pinholes in the fabric of space
I see you and I don't act
I feel you and I want more
I think and I wish
it were all better
I'm nothing. But I live
and the days move by
regardless
without me, something pushes
bits in my brain
little changes, forever
within me, without me, no self to find
I was told to look up
and ask for what i want
and wait patiently
for particles beyond my control to align
am I influencing a universe
or am I witness
a seer soul
a bit
i am pushing
I show up, maladjusted to this work
creation has sent a critic, a judge
it demands a keener perspective
my secret work, my reflections
laid bare, untreated
has little use
for this progress
I strangle my own hand to keep it from dancing
behind my back
it dies.
The other begins dancing in protest.
I bite it, breaking bones.
My knees start shaking, my feet kicking.
So I bury myself waist deep.
And with my last vestige of autonomy
I fashion new limbs, bidden to act
in accordance with new rules
I write in the dirt.
Every day.