Itch... Itch.. Twitch... Twitch...
It knows I'm not supposed to be here. It feels me hiding under its expansiveness, and I feel wily in the realization that I shall do us both a favor once again. Never a function of logic, but only of desire and not a provocation of remorse. It be what it be, and it be inevitable. Until a greater good becomes us time be the only factor, remorse our only course.
Objectify this life as a whole, see the big picture one pixel at a time. What thing brings a tangible hope to any struggle? What birthing of logic can blend that optimistic a mind with a twisted perception of reality? All reality is twisted perception. There is a creature inside each of us that scares the other. Inside me? Inside you? This is where our spirits swirl, in a land void of ego, in the depths of consciousness and humanity.
Of course it's crazy talk. All that has ever been excreted from this mind of mine is such, and into the abyss I continue to tumble. Into the dark, the unknown, it is the magnet that grabs my passion and closes my eyes to all else. Who then actually wants to feel? those who have never felt? How can such an urge manifest in a world like ours? A guy somewhere named Harvey knows the answer.
Should I never say anything else, let this be heard- a bad decision is a good thing and after enough time goes by, nothing is ever bad to those who have it good. And by good I mean bad. And by bad I mean the alphabet. Thus, we stand to learn a great deal from Cheerios, a life lesson about monogamy and commitment. Those O's are the floating prophets we should all praise, yet we scorn them in secret.
The truth?
Search and you shall find. We can only ride the spiral for so long, and in our longing to connect with ourselves we see the only conclusion- Confusion. A state of wandering about in our minds through which we form relationships with our body. What we come to realize in this struggle is the value of strength, and that of weakness. Neither controls us but they both govern our actions. Nothing can be more gratifying than overcoming the urge to manifest a higher purpose, a twisted human delusion. What then can be said of self? What importance are we to ourselves? We spend to much time lost in worlds we find on our journey to be unnatural. Like Play-doh. Smells good though, like life, at points anyway. Not all parts of our existence smell good. We stink of fear through much of our lives, and the funny thing is that only animals can sense it. This is not a coincidence.
These are never things anyoone seems to want to discuss, but I could always tell the mountain. It always knew of the tragedy that smothered me. It knew what I am. A self-defining rant here, a projected intention there, the mountain could always see through the things I tried to slide by it, for it is wise in it's years. No idea was ever lost on the great and humble rock, it seemed to know all yet it only ever told me what I needed to hear. It remains free, as I yearn to be.