I’m prone to bouts of anger, short tempered, the overly sensitive type. Writing is a way to make sense of it all. While art is a way in which I can escape the thoughts that haunt me shutting off conscious thought and allowing my hands to guide me.
The universe is without a brain to hold the truth it finds. It creates life to answer what it cannot, the questions that keeps the universe expanding.
That creation is an explorer finding answers that life needs to uncover. The truths they find causes their brains to pulsate and shed releasing the parts the intelligent life cannot accept as if the answers are incomprehensible.
Intelligent life cannot accept its purpose to keep the universe expanding and to consider the possibility that its birth is meant to continue life.
Once the answers are given and life is satisfied will that creation die out and give space for what is to come next? If that is true do we want to give life the answers it seeks or allow the answers to shrivel and die within us?
I don’t often speak in crowded places as the opinions drip out of mouths and are chopped like onions by the public mixers provoking tears as I hold in my thoughts knowing my words aren’t as strong as the fumes of theirs rather I stay quiet and I keep it in for moments that I feel are necessary.
Disinfect the casing spray it down to prevent molding it’s dirty again submerge it within water and hope it dries air drying isn’t the best grab a towel don’t be to delicate the mold is rough it gets in there and isn’t willing to leave.
It’s not as if you can buy another at the corner store maybe off the internet although it’d be damaged upon arrival and no one knows how to transfer the brain properly from one body to another so try harder clean it quicker dry it completely because once this body dies your life is over.
I’ll love you till I’m dead because when I’m not thinking I don’t think love is possible at that point. Till then I’m yours.
Thank you for filling the car with gasoline when I do I’m covered in gas smelling and to close to a lighter I’ll go up in smoke because the simple tasks of this living world are impossible for a brain like mine.
I’m often failing at grasping simple gestures asking you what words mean and what responses are proper and which are rude over text to that of a traditional mind which I know is out of your grasp but I thank you for the ask and the reply.
I love you and with you I feel success is possible and I thank you for the chance.
I give you my emotions dripping of vile words bottled and stored within you and as it becomes harder and the words seep from your pores I carefully collect them and take them back in allowing space within yourself because you deserve to find solace within me as well.
All the bodies walking off this way and that way, the distance is better. Apart far enough in which their chaos cannot bleed right into me and their presence is acknowledged without reaching me and allowing their pain to seep within.
When their pain is felt I lay down the shivers take me as I try to force it out that hate in them ready to swallow me whole. The pain that ate them internally prepared to eat its way straight through and into me. Leaping upon me looking for a home in which it finds more to make friends with mixing with breeding with and disbursing its disease over and over for feelings are difficult and feeling it can be confusing when you can’t find the main source.
Time is dying each second that passes is the end of that moment and the memories retained are never identical never fully intact. If I pick them out the videos of your mind pieces would be missing words deleted, changed and faces missing because the moment they enter us that’s the moment the event changes. It distorts and becomes the perception of the individual rather than the truth of the actual event.
As if grease in a pan it sticks heavily with a stink I scrub attempting to clean to erase the day.
The faucet turns on red stains left as it turns off my hands dry and coarse.
Lotion to moisturize as I stare heavily into the eyes forever within the mirror the same eyes looking back as if there is no escape as if I’d want one?
Death brings an end an end to thinking an end to cleaning an end to trying to forget the worry and the stress the germs that cling on reading to take the life from a living body invading, exploring, and breeding.
Yet I clean and I cover over sanitize, deodorize today the day after and yesterday because death has preventative measures for a period of time and I’m not ready to stop the stress and the worry because thinking is everything.
You don’t have to agree it’s alright to feel it to feel the emotion the confusion of human conflicts understanding it I cannot.
Always trying to tug the chains in their own favor deleting and adding rules to govern trying to be more willing in which they’re all trying to stake claim and win and what I can’t understand is what they’re winning?
I never found happiness in stress I never found happiness in harming others I never found happiness in hurtful words because as I say them as I think them I feel a pain within my brain hating the jealous part hating the part that judges hating the part that’s critical of actions of others and actions of myself and I’ve always wondered where is the happiness in standing above the rest? I only observe stress and pain in all the bodies above and below. So please tell me who is ever winning? Is winning meant to be misery?