sitting, thinking, and crafting the ideas that will continue to shape
my being beyond this death… such an odd string to attach one’s
conscious thought… October passed with a fairly hushed tone… no parties,
but feelings for strangers are pretty moot when there is far better
companionship at the heart of one’s daily existence… even dreams of the
recent future do not placate my psyche calm, and drugs are the least of
my needs, no matter how distorted the perception may be to outsiders…
festivities aside, though, there are many things learned over the course
of this strange recall into slightly misty areas of memory…
interactivity seems strained but feasible, and the bits I have come up
with are mere shadows of the solid firmament that makes movement
difficult, to be aware and understanding of them in small increments…
work moves my days along at the snail’s pace that builds the frenzy for
escape, unless the pay got better which isn’t too likely, but prayers
get hurled out there nonetheless… these wants, though, are like flowers
that blossom into buds of the most precious creativity… pious to muse, I
crave the blissful strokes of the keys to quiet my gaze, and calm the
demons that lurk in corners of conscious glades… those dream plateaus
hitherto explored by all and everyone at once, and the more I seem to
have a grasp of the Tree, it feels as though it is assimilating into my
conscious reality… even my artwork has been screaming particular
symbolism, as collaborations between myself and my other perhaps, and
the final step began when our minds began melding over these two views…
the tarot is strikingly more valid, but still not being utilized
properly, the knowledge seems to be moving before the actions… on a
stingier note… if I could criticize more than myself for the moment, I
would describe some of the disgust and exaltation that one feels
confronting modern markers of culture every day, but I can never feel
truly at ease Here, my friends… it has been far too long since relating
my thoughts like this, but I will not give up none too soon, even if
dementia eats my soul I shall not finish these words with a souled-out
psychosis compelled by greed… total wash of discomfort above, and yet I
hear myself in those words, something I can grasp because it reaches out
to me… noisily the gears rattle to allow the parade of thoughts
through, all out at once, and gushing between the bars… this humanity,
emotional noise if you will, has brought to bear my feelings on
forgetting… remarks of the beasts and the writers on listings, these are
the things that need frequent fisting, and the brain as we know it
lurches forward… I grow wistful, but it really appears as nostalgia
incognito, the hidden sentiment… waiting for the wheel to go ’round
again as the satellites whirl around me…
Thanks, khet.
