so it's somewhere near my one month birthday into this vast, unrefined yet malleable mass of molten thoughts and feelings and fears. anniversary tribute? well, you talked me into it.
few people seem to understand select things in this "uterus of dreams" called online writing. you see, here in this slippery-slide of a gestation/birthing tunnel, thoughts are recalled (a majority spontaneously produced) and transfered in respectable binary code. their creators hoping, dreaming....well, whatever dream comes to mind, but mostly venting. releasing their inner steam of demons, secrets, or apparitions of wishes to catch the air.
and i'm here to sqaush them?
you know, actually the hate notes have turned more into perfect visions of assistance from unknown strangers.
please, s1ck - believe the bible so you can be on the same intellectual level as me. comeon, i need someone to backup my delusions as to make myself feel better about believing them.
i'm sorry. maybe my intentions aren't coming out as crystal clear as i thought...or maybe you just don't want to waste the time or effort to open yourself to a different view.
feel free to jump in at any point...
onward and upward
realizations are something we all must face throughout the entirety of our thought journeys. minds sharp, crisply peaked on the plateau of THC-induced thinking - skin crawling with the feelings of life. movements in every cell of the entire body. the clash of high speed, hi-fidelity locomotion inside a void being and the sluggish, childlike movements mingled with bumps of idea disembowling thoughts. perfection in the form of perfect conditions.
the reveleation of life in a daydream- floating aimlessly in the encircling spiral of denial and blind faith, when the evidence is here saturating your senses.
we all live in these phantom realities - the possibility of love, for instance being emotional dependency and physical necessity hidden behind a false sense of caring-strikes us as unimagineable. someone who might say that even marriage could be to simply quench the issue of financial security, or even to feel more a part of accepted society- strikes us as an uncaring fool that doesn't know what it feels like to be loved.
so i'm putting my neck on the verbal line. throwing out theses of admirable suicide or relying on self-reliance. go, hit me with the mallet of opinions. beat me on all sides so that i become a man-made imperfect circle. i feed on my self-hatered. i am one with your anger.
