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Regrettable conquest.

the motion halted, but that was only the illusion, and everybody only pays attention to the things that use movement… trying to train myself to focus on one item at a time, but the distractions are sometimes too strong to try to resist… thoughts can become concave, and collapse upon the unwilling if awareness is blank and ignorant… i play one of these fools in real waking life, and the eerie affectation of being the outsider has diminished my want to interact with others, unrelenting and reckless in behavior that insists it is the right voice to listen to… clouding out other voices instead for repetition of the wrong things, answers to questions never asked by anyone, and always in all the wrong contexts… hard to believe, but i feel as though i shall finally have some life energy that is my own, that isn’t linked through time and space to anyone else stranger in future strange lands… do we keep the seed moving so that it carries us through to the other side with it?… or does that just never matter in the grand scheme of cosmic madness prevailing?… the raw and unyielding words sting and scar as they fly out and away, trying to pressure cook the whole lot of us in an infernal stew, and making the melting pot boiling hot to scald the unfortunate ones… the emotions cannot appear objective to me, and my system of organizing those thoughts sometimes shatters any previously held personal expectations of stupidity, my blindness allowing others to see themselves when it is their time to open up to the vision… there are very few people really trying to understand themselves in any way that will make sense to the outside world at large, but the past has given us the works of scholars and thinkers who posit similar enough arguments that it certainly adds to the magical parallels in synchronicity, the possibility of a probability within a probability of possibility forever into the infinite… speeches are made by the orators who can handle the pressure, but sometimes the song has to be sung and there are no other singers but you, where we are there is only the ‘show’… the display for no one in particular, but for your willingness to include yourself in the chaos i need for positive change to occur, without risking the skin once or twice there is nothing of note to stand up and look forward to… maybe you are afraid of what it may reveal to you once it is done, and maybe that fear is really one of disappointment, the anxiety building up restlessly and the energy going who knows where once it is done with you… maybe the fear is regret and emotion pushed aside for too long, maybe i need to meditate more often instead of constant projecting of my short comings onto everything else, and the fault is all mine to bear so i must just get over it….breathe-in, breathe-out, better… no?… with your normal hair, with your normal face, you’re fucked!

Thanks, khet.