Why can't I kill someone I hate?
The returning to a well trod path. Earth beaten path. Grass napping path. So I nap and look up at the sky fragmented by the branches and leaves over my head and punctuated by the sun flare. It's all so mesmerizing I forgot where I came from and where I needed to be. Then realizing I knew neither of these things I relaxed once more to that wavering, flickering vision above me. My skin rests, my restless nature rests. But I know there is more moving here than ever there was before. I feel a thousand things at once, I feel a buzzing, I hear competing voices, I hear a wall being built, I hear the resistance mounting. It all confuses and obliterates and is suppose to be known and you are not suppose to react to it. There is nothing known here I'm sure of it, this is unique experience or we would all fear it like death.
Or I dunno, life.
Who knows, but the trembling doesn't stop even though you've reasoned through it many times. So what's left but to get up and move down the path. Or better yet take a walk through the trees and brambles, and every time you trip fall into it like whip cream. With your grin, that one.
It flickers too like those leaves I thought I left behind. There are so many of these leaves around.
It is a blessing to be gone from the path and stumbling through so much. You must work for this experience and it is necessary, there is no grass napping station here.
It is here where we are lost but it is here that nothing matters, we are joined from whence we came and the blinking light plays on nothing but my ribcages.
There was a vague blurriness that remained that had nothing to do with the concepts. It stayed true because it was not as abstract as all that. What stemmed and boiled all those competing voices now hums and radiates without pulsing. An experience that refused to be left behind even though a thousand competing voices couldn't agree to what it was. There was no definition of it, so out here without dichotomy it reigned supreme. This was all there truly had been. The only genuine thing that passed through me. Trembling leaves.
Or I dunno, life.
Who knows, but the trembling doesn't stop even though you've reasoned through it many times. So what's left but to get up and move down the path. Or better yet take a walk through the trees and brambles, and every time you trip fall into it like whip cream. With your grin, that one.
It flickers too like those leaves I thought I left behind. There are so many of these leaves around.
It is a blessing to be gone from the path and stumbling through so much. You must work for this experience and it is necessary, there is no grass napping station here.
It is here where we are lost but it is here that nothing matters, we are joined from whence we came and the blinking light plays on nothing but my ribcages.
There was a vague blurriness that remained that had nothing to do with the concepts. It stayed true because it was not as abstract as all that. What stemmed and boiled all those competing voices now hums and radiates without pulsing. An experience that refused to be left behind even though a thousand competing voices couldn't agree to what it was. There was no definition of it, so out here without dichotomy it reigned supreme. This was all there truly had been. The only genuine thing that passed through me. Trembling leaves.