This is just an exhale
Sometimes, I can only see the air in front of my face, and tectonic plates shift and grind filling my ears with carpet tidal waves. There is no fog, smoke, or vapor, no impediment except the reflective nature of nothing that seperates people from the vast rest of everything. It's not the nothing of pitch-black or closed eyes when fireworks of leftover light explodes and ricochets wildly trying to build something solid. The same thing happens to daydreamers that do not dream. It is thinking in absence of language, and the conclusions or spontaneous realizations are impossible to relate, overpowering the limitations of speech. Even nonverbal cues are shrouded in unfamiliar fidgets and gesticulations. If one is able to communicate it is in silouhettes, darkness that could be either moutains or clouds.
They are not soulful revelations, nothing spiritual, nothing metaphysical. Simple things. Occassionally recognition of the carpet, crashing and engulfing then ebbing to leave me with nothing of its oscillations except lint in my pockets, will make me realize my sudden strange blindness. Awaking is a violent jerk and a dumbfounded smirk. Nothing goes unnoticed particularly, but the mind, busy with its erratic spasms takes a moment to revert back into the coded synapses necessary for human interaction.
Whatever, everything is laminated.
They are not soulful revelations, nothing spiritual, nothing metaphysical. Simple things. Occassionally recognition of the carpet, crashing and engulfing then ebbing to leave me with nothing of its oscillations except lint in my pockets, will make me realize my sudden strange blindness. Awaking is a violent jerk and a dumbfounded smirk. Nothing goes unnoticed particularly, but the mind, busy with its erratic spasms takes a moment to revert back into the coded synapses necessary for human interaction.
Whatever, everything is laminated.