Exclamation in a hidden reverie,
Somethings on the outside are really inside of me,
Like this flow outwards it will always be,
The same and same at least to some degree.
To be honest I feel like a schmuck,
It’s not a matter of wit but of luck,
These words come and go and when they come it’s yuck,
haha I really just don’t give a fuck.
If I could do it steady I’d be the best at rap,
It would give me a chance to let my mind unwrap,
Too many words and emotions stuck and in a big trap,
But hey hey hey, again, I don’t give a crap.
I’m an awful speller, thank god for spell check,
I have an awful memory, thank god for history,
I don’t know a goddamn thing, thank google for a godlike victory.
Buddha, who dat?
Oh oh, this text is all supplementary!
We all keep looking up for a ladder,
but what we see is a tree, half-assed pedigree.
In the cache sits chaos,
envisioning entropy and derange in the dark.
On a branch down sits a mighty force,
this great leader all hailed,
he who could have lifted us up,
Have any of you seen that video on youtube,
the one with the decapitated snake, cut in two,
and somehow it still manages to bite it’s own tail?
Fangs sinking in, this is the reality we live within,
Snickering grows with some feelings out to get you,
but all men and all women in the world have it known,
that the things we wish for and the things we really need,
are close by at arm’s length,
within our reach,
and ready to be shown.
Stand up and climb.
I began tonights blog entry as a deep philosophical post regarding psychosis and reality. It is my belief, that “within psychosis resides true reality” and I have a lot of quotes and examples to use as my best attempt to explain that, but it was too much. Too much for me to bear right now, because explaining something so grand and profuse would take careful planning, and to be honest – I didn’t have it in me tonight.
Instead of not writing anything at all, which I normally decide to do, I convinced myself to just start typing an entry, and here we are almost done.
I like this quote from Plato, acting as Socrates, “How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?”
Plato states the idea of wonder so clearly, that I really do hope it makes you wonder – if at least for a second.
The remains of a man are buried in clay,
some yellow machine did the heavy lifting,
and now four children carry the weight,
but still, lively things grow above him.
I’ve been told not to think too hard,
but if I don’t think is that escaping?
If I don’t think,
is that hopeful fear commiserating?
Eight hands hold many years now,
digits and digits of ideas and tears,
flowing rough river rapids like Jude,
brother of peace and all knowing, but not.
And here we are now.
I was dreaming in the night,
and instead of singing at the stars,
a sad song of depletion and plight,
I decided to become one with them.
Hell below me,
at my feet,
a firm foundation,
bones buried intended to brace thisss –
Wisdom seeped in before it slips out,
and now outsiders hold strong for me.
So above with everything beneath,
and bubbles blister inside me.
Thoughts surounding thoughts,
are you thinking?
A sphere seen through,
reflecting colours and light,
glowing as so many others do,
just one of many branching out.
These idea-bubbles roam royale ridges,
as they also bolster my mind beneath them,
Wordly wisdom seeped in before it could slip out,
and now outsiders and insiders are one.
p/s/ * did I mention that I am a master of photoshop?