I looked in the mirror and watched it splinter into the million combinations of people I am and that strive within. I sat holding conversations with a hundred facets of myself in the future, past and present; none of us has a clue what we're doing but we all have a similar outlook; which I found refreshing. Have you ever asked the eldest part of yourself a question but needed to wait a few years to translate it because at the time neither of you spoke the same language?
It's an interesting concept that the darkest part of yourself has a desire and need to converse with the lightest, and vice versa.
Today the elder asked what the fuck we're doing and when we responded with keeping time; he shat himself and yelled in an arcane tongue that it better fucking get quick soon or much destruction would be visited upon our tender heads. We of course told him to stuff it; whereupon he laughed his ass off and wandered away mumbling about youth.
I revisit the times in my life when things just seemed to be or to happen, it's an interesting mix of reality and fantasy. Much like the everyday.
In the darkness things grew to sizes unheard of but only because no one had ever seen them in the light close up; so what do you do with them ? Shove them back into the dark or embrace them and accept them for what they are or what they could be; lordy what a thought. No, best to shuffle them under the rug back into the dark and hidden; where eventually no rug will cover them; isn't that best? Don't you all feel safer now? Couldn't you just puke knowing that there are an infinate amount of people who think that's the right thing to do?
I'm rambling only because I feel like it tonight; but no matter it's my time and spooky's drive space; hopefully neither of us will mind too much.
Take one of me and go to bed and don't bother calling in the morning because hopefully we'll be at breakfast; if there are any decent things left in the world this will still be a constant.
I think I'm done for a bit now, sometimes I forget to release the floodgates in small amounts and there is a deluge of shite that must be released, often upon deaf ears but sometimes some of it makes sense.
Thankfully not now.
Pirates seem so apropos; like reality was just shanghaied, roughed up a bit and then released somewhere after the ransom was paid. Most likely dead and in a small box cut into pieces; but the general feeling of completion is the same.
It's an interesting concept that the darkest part of yourself has a desire and need to converse with the lightest, and vice versa.
Today the elder asked what the fuck we're doing and when we responded with keeping time; he shat himself and yelled in an arcane tongue that it better fucking get quick soon or much destruction would be visited upon our tender heads. We of course told him to stuff it; whereupon he laughed his ass off and wandered away mumbling about youth.
I revisit the times in my life when things just seemed to be or to happen, it's an interesting mix of reality and fantasy. Much like the everyday.
In the darkness things grew to sizes unheard of but only because no one had ever seen them in the light close up; so what do you do with them ? Shove them back into the dark or embrace them and accept them for what they are or what they could be; lordy what a thought. No, best to shuffle them under the rug back into the dark and hidden; where eventually no rug will cover them; isn't that best? Don't you all feel safer now? Couldn't you just puke knowing that there are an infinate amount of people who think that's the right thing to do?
I'm rambling only because I feel like it tonight; but no matter it's my time and spooky's drive space; hopefully neither of us will mind too much.
Take one of me and go to bed and don't bother calling in the morning because hopefully we'll be at breakfast; if there are any decent things left in the world this will still be a constant.
I think I'm done for a bit now, sometimes I forget to release the floodgates in small amounts and there is a deluge of shite that must be released, often upon deaf ears but sometimes some of it makes sense.
Thankfully not now.
Pirates seem so apropos; like reality was just shanghaied, roughed up a bit and then released somewhere after the ransom was paid. Most likely dead and in a small box cut into pieces; but the general feeling of completion is the same.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
while i am aware that many voices lurch and flail within my head, the orchestration of these into a conversation has thus far been impossible. i am unaware of myself, as unaware as people are of one another. my self from five years ago perhaps has things in common with my self of tonight--but how can i know when i'm unable to introduce them to one another? they just hop madly and slap rhythms on disparate sections of the wall.
wait, i've been expressing myself all wrong. it's what i'm doing right now: flailing, tripping, jibbly-hibbing. and my hands are sore and swollen