where am i going?
the question often on my mind
my mind distracting me with its quest
its mindless quest to determine
to discern what's best, or better
- something different than this

this is bliss.
this is.
i love,
am love.

i'm moving - so what?
i'm stationary, too

the stationary upon which God writes
to me, and to you:

hey. how's it going? it's been a while.
did you forget? that's alright.
here I am;
here I will be always.
have fun! take care.
remember me, some times,
and maybe remember to write
yourself to Me.

so i will.
lick the glue of life
and seal this moment up tight
before consuming it,
postage paid,
drop it in the box and

continue

rather than being "stuck" - as i perceive others to be, somewhat often, mostly during their extended representation of their own ideas by relativising the ideas (in minute detail) of others who've gained acclaim - in specific knowledge of others' thoughts and development and progress through thoughts regarding the ideas that consume me, i'm stuck with the pieces of the raw that burn up in the atmosphere of my all-perceiving consciousness. i'm not in the dark with flecks of light bombarding me; i'm stuck in the light, with tiny interpretations of the ramifications of the Whole that engulfs me, that my singular consciousness represents.

maybe that'll make sense to me when i reread it.

i've got to wedge my self so tightly into this limited state - because, if i don't, i may just be as free as i am. and that's way too free for me to accept. Me's overload. hence the difficulties, i guess. i just whistled (birdlike) in response to a birdlike whistle i heard (which may have actually been a bird), because i thought it may have been a cool person who saw me out here, hittin' my one-hitter, looking to exchange. yeah; i'd believe that, and every other possibility that might be interpreted - at any point - from this stream of stimuli that should somehow be discerned by the moment that is me; i'm just so transparent (am i? is that just something i tell myself? is this question the minion of the inverse of that, a source of disharmony one generation more mature and farther from the truth [but no less effective]?) ...... that was so convoluted - imagine thinking through it! and i hit these things like quicksand traps - never stopping, really, but ceasing progressing, somehow.

a lesbian trapped inside of a gay man trapped inside of a bisexual woman trapped inside of a bisexual man trapped inside of a heterosexual woman trapped inside of a heterosexual man trapped inside of a woman trapped inside of a man

a realist trapped inside of an optimist trapped inside of a cynic pretending to be an optimist, but wishing really to be a realist

belief

i like gettin high. i like it when it comes on, and i realize that i forgot what it was to be high; in those brief moments, my sense parallels what i know when i realize that i forgot what it was to be alive. just to be here - at all. to exist within this moment that is what i am, unchangingly, slways, what i am. the universe provides; even at my most dire (or what passes for it, nowadays), i knw i'm fine, and 'll be fine. do you know wht it's like to forget that you're alive for months at a time? i have some recollection of it; it's mostly nothing, a muck not even smothering - just there, just here, but not. not.

just an instant. an intant's all it takes to regain it, and another to lose it - and just one to experience all of it, before pitching myself back in between. i'm fine. i just don't want to be; am i programmed to want someone outside of myself? i read somewhere about some particular person or term for a partcular enlightened or balanced state of being: view(ed/s) the universe and his experience as his lover. something like that - and without what once would have been reflexive determinism stating that it's got to be one of the other. it can be either, and both - right now, it can just be me and Universe, without a specific facet within which to gaze. into which to gaze.



gonna take some time, now period

listening to some more moby, ferverently (though that's not the correct adjective) adherign to the beautiful constant which dictates it be so.

there's no continuity here. i am plastered. i am high. i am nothing but... but what? the something that corrected the half-dozen typos that exist between the beginning of this statenment and now.

yeah!

yet here i am.

i am constant. i exist in every state in which i exist - though teach does not impress upon the ohter.

feailure.

yarrrrr.

feeliure.
failure.
and yarr.



i'd never deign to publish this bullshit.

sometimes i feel this disco beat movin - not really like right now, because now i'm preoccupied with framing this bullshit properly. only two sneezes, now - though that took me more than two sneezes to convey. and theare's all manner of time that's passed between now and the time i concluded hat lst research, that last foray - and it'd concluded that i omit too many typos and include any too many goo"d ideas" to encompass any of tis bullshit.

what do i know? nothingm, apart from that stupidasss something that insisits on being despite its in spite of its conscious, constant recognition that it is juat a gear - one of so, so hoh so many - gears that grind this stupidassity into existence - so many corrections whent into what is right now, on this correctionless notepad screen, which i've not looked at for more than a minute - up untill the flawless fifteen seconds immediately preceding.

okay. thank you. this'll do.

nothing to say; just the urge to say something

madison just said "eighteen... eighty-one." there was no external stimulus present to prompt it. i was reading skittle's post "meanings" on the blog "12:34." funny, random, all that wondrous stuff.

specificity eludes me. color is absent. monochrome, intangible absolutes are all i am aware of. i've got this hypothesis (based on past experience) that i'll not feel the in between unless engaged by some reciprocal; a light source through which to view the aspects of light as it travels and i remain still or as i travel through its stillness.

i heard that the girls will be going to their grandmother's "this summer;" i dunno when that is, but i'm going back to the canyon, then. come along if you'd like; i've still got to figure out transportation, or just wind up rolling without a plan of any predetermined sort.

i'm wide awake. and my third eye is tightly shut. all i can do is remember love and truth and the all; it's a "that," now - a promise that saves me succumbing to despair, but not the experience of the waves within the ocean that is despair. angst. boredom. loneliness. confusion. frustration. apathy. i know hope; i don't feel it. i know i love; i don't feel it. i know there is a way to interpret it all as beauty, but i'm not in alignment with that perspective. monochromatic; plain; lifeless; loveless - and what's it mean that i want the something else? something i cling to and release and erase my definition of. something that's not something else, but me and.. and whatever else it is that defies description. i let go. i am, but impurities exist, baffling me and efforts and the effort to relinquish effort. i chose to be here; now i can't leave. fuck, fuck, fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck!

somebody save me in the way only i can save myself. somebody point it out to me; i can point others to it, but it's conceptual to me, now; the between has become unfamiliar. help. me.

white mother wolf, visit me, please! please! please? i abandon my stupid knowing better. i don't know anything. you're out there. you're in me. where am i? damn this!

every time i look at the clock, there's some non-specific meaning in the sequence. 11:44, right now. i remember seeing mile marker 568 and wondering, "where's the '7'?" and i remember the answer being "well, i'm seven; i'm the lack i perceive, the piece that completes my perception." i am the balance of my perspective; all i perceive is the balance of me. fuck this knowledge, barrier to being. i'm stuck knowing being. i just want to be being. i need some relief. solace. peace.

god? God? i'm addressing You. help me, please. i abandon my self image. i abandon correctness. i'm lost. bleat. bleat! bleat!? bleat motherfucking bleat!!!

damnit. damnit.

respite. respite. respite. i'm lost. i'm stuck. i'm lost. i'm stuck. i'm lost. i don't remember anything but that encapsulated truth, Truth encapsulated. can i please break it open? temporarily? can i dive in? push me in! i don't remember how to jump. i keep looking for the edge to throw myself over. it's barren, here. i'm barren, cluttered with nothing. full of emptiness - pieces of it, obstacles, garbage, baggage, tethers. i'm gulliver, my thoughts lilliputians. burn them all into nonexistence; let the heap of gathered ashes await me, for later - now, though, let me be at peace! please!

i'm begging you, here, in these words, through this unpublished blog entry, within my flesh and mind and all i command - i relinquish. i let go. i don't want anything i have or am. i'll pick up the yoke, or welcome its replacement, some other time. please, i don't want to be this. not right now. i'm sorry. please. unburden me. let me be free for a while, so the memory's more fresh.

and, if that's not to be, so be it. let your will be my will, Father, Mother, God, Universe, All Knowing All Being. i love you.. i know i do. i love me; i know that, too. i love everything - why don't i feel it? i can't imagine a purpose. i can imagine a purpose that i can't imagine, my inability to imagine it being a part of its purpose or a necessity for its delivery.

i'm not happy right now, though. you know that. i'll suck it up until sweet death.

i'd really like some respite, though. i'd like to be what i pretend to remember.

am i faithless?

again?

i love you.



Peace

share. give. to the future of the future.

omegle introduced me to a fifteen-year-old who's better off than i was at twenty-five, and is, through willingness, becoming what he wishes to understand. if he can do this at fifteen, what might the future hold? if we place the youth on our shoulders, allow them to stand atop the mountain of our own failures, to continue from the point at which we've fallen - what might there be? enlightened, loving, aware children, spending a lifetime sowing love and furthering love and awareness and acceptance? what a wondrous spectacle that would be! i hope to see it; i'll return as a mosquito to bear witness, and rejoice as i'm splattered by a child who is reminded briefly thereafter of the sacredness of Life in all God's forms.

this is where we are GOING! get on board! PLEASE! please, forsake yourself, embrace Self through selflessness. there is nothing more wholesome. there is no greater fulfillment to be had.

i am so grateful.

colin hay's "waiting for my real life to begin"
there are so many parallels, so much familiar. yes; i'm aware that i'm running in the same circle, standing in place, covering the distance between this me and death. no, awareness of the truth, of the probability of the futility, does not deter me from this course, or lack thereof, or whatever it is.

asterisks by what seems most pertinent, now.



*Any minute now my ship is coming in
*I'll keep checking the horizon
And I'll stand on the bow
And feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down, down, down on me

And you said,"Be still, my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in"
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

*When I awoke today suddenly nothing happened
But in my dreams I slew the dragon
And down this beaten path
And up this cobbled lane
*I'm walking in my own footsteps once again

And you say,"Just be here now
Forget about the past
Your mask is wearing thin"
*Let me throw one more dice
*I know that I can win
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

Any minute now my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
*And I'll check my machine
*There's sure to be that call
*It's gonna happen soon, soon, oh so very soon
It's just that times are lean

And you say,"Be still, my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in"
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

On a clear day
I can see, see for a long way

On a clear day
I can see, see a very long way

i'm kinda saddened that i can't imagine ever again being so enamored as to feel the absolute need to spend every waking moment with a person. i've lost something by evolving into this more independent, definitively defined me. i never wanted to be a grown-up.

whelp laid, furr end, whelp laid.
wit thin men huts eyes weighed
fur rum dis harm on he two piece -
whir ear heap laced width he's.

sill he an ticks per veiled
um id aim hinds adder
fore summer ease on
amish ore did in mad her.

the hanks hug in,
the hanks hug in.

beet wean ewe hand you knee verse,
eyes up pose aisle fined
aweigh tool of dis curs
an tomb ache id mine.

discourse regarding count countless

aspects, modes of existence, perspectives:
1. the count
2. countless
3. count countless

the count deciphers; countless encompasses; count countless encompasses both, and the resulting both, and the resulting both, ad infinitum.


the count renders language possible; countless renders balance possible; count countless Is.

the count is i; countless is I; count countless Is.

the count is he; countless is she; count countless Is.

the count prefers; countless is ambivalent; count countless Is.

the count is specificity, is individuality, is identity, is one among all; countless is facetless and omni faceted, is all but not one; count countless Is.

the count knows being knowing; countless is being knowing being; count countless Is.

i call him the count, because that's what he does (discerns, distinguishes).
i call her countless, because she doesn't count (discern, distinguish).
the concept of count countless... unapproachable, approachable, unreachable, nonexistent, everpresent, unending... One; words, thoughts, provide but part of the whole that must be being been to be known; to understand is not to understand; unencompassable. "count countless," chosen label for the unlabellable - applied by the count, the one who requires that there be a label.

fb crap i may wish to have kept had i not

conundrum of the paradoxical palindrome:
not because i like big words, but because it's accurate: unsolvable question spawned by existence of The fact, refuting its own existence, apparently identical from either side - neither perspective apparent that it is but one of two, with simultaneous awareness transcending awareness. The Frontier, nonexistent, between Existence and Not.

"reality" is one of those tangents, my friend; it just happens to be the one that we all agree upon - that agreement (acceptance) sufficing, for most, for understanding otherwise unattainable. i know i'm chasing my tail - but it's my natural inclination to do so; having no preference, i let nature take its course. there's purpose in even the ... See Morepurposeless; my finite (humanly) perspective knows not why, but Faith (yes) leads me as i'm lead, to choose as i "choose," and i am at peace with what "i" am within All That Is. I accept edward's inability to accept, and become a transcendent peace that encompasses that disharmony and its inverse; this does not, however, negate the existence of apparent disharmony - the same, i assume, that is witnessed and was responded to thrice, recently. to each of you: i am more at peace, more often, than ever before i've been; i am truly "in God's hands," and, holistically, as whole as i'll be until this body relinquishes its hold on my soul.

i love you, too. i HAVE found happiness in thinking, now; i'm no longer mired in the old and familiar torment: now i see not only all of the darkness of the void surrounding the flickering light of my awareness as i traverse what thoughts lie between me and death. i've been enlightened with appreciation of the eternal nature of the light and of the... See More void and of their coexistence - The Truth, the nature of Nature, a fact irrefutable and fundamental, its existence made apparent (apparency as substantial, though, only as the fronteir between dark and light, as substantial as choice) by the fact that there is light within the dark, that the two co-exist as a part of the Whole, and that, somehow, i perceive them each and both and All. i had to suffer in order to come here; i know not whether it was pride or skepticism or cynicism or some other predisposition that lead me to re-re-re-invent the wheel - all of that matters no longer; i've arrived Here Whole, with this holistic understanding which is peace, the nature of which tells me that its purpose is but to Be.

through all those words, what i really want to convey is that i have found peace of acceptance, and acceptance of that peace. i mean it - peace used to bug me.

all of it

written to the "you" i see when facing me while seeing "you."
written to "you," to me, and to Universe. interpret it all all ways. the picture will be, then, closer to the complete it'll never reach without you being Me.

Me
Being
Universe

as stated previously

a new sense of tired, of exhaustion, of supreme frustration, of disappointment

in you

in each of you


can't i even get the fucking idea across?
i don't exist. stop fucking knocking.
there is no door;
no house;
no address;
no city;
no address;
nothing.

but you're on the curb you imagine
tossing rocks towards the window
of the mirage that is "me,"
constructed by you and your need


if you didn't want me,
you'd have me.

if you didn't want me,
i'd have you.

you motherfuckers


i do exist.
have a seat.



the "me" you see will not be
never was
but in your mind


Me that Is
is you
already

realize that,
please?


so i can stop being to you
"that"

- an echo of your desire,
rebounding off of the Truth that Is Me
that you fail to see
amidst the composite -

and become to Me This
where "we" can be Me


and admit it

I AM the void
i am what you see

I AM nothing
stop creating me

asshole

and i understand
because
when i'm not here,
consternated
i'm there,
gazing at "you"
longing
as you gaze at "me"

written some time ago; posting similarly-themed metaphorical poetry, moth/flame

Self-actualized
terrified.

So crippled by fear
of allowing her
to draw near only
to shut her out.

A moth to the flame
I fly.
Wary, though, am I.
I've been here before
and I know.

I am the flame;
I will set you ablaze
and douse myself,
then wonder (sincerely)
"why are you on fire?"

it's all the same -
the result, the aim -
the rhyme scheme

another of
the same
guided endeavor
to loose the rudder.

to cut free the implement
of cutting free -
that last tether,
only remainder
of the engine that renders peace

to end the end
and begin beginning

to put into words
a farewell to language,
to thought,
to discernment -

but all there is is the act
of letting go -
less than that, even,
and even that,
even that,
even that


farewell is a lingering,
its desire even less -
but still enough
to remain
the remainder.



Out with the dove!
in with the crow.
Out with the knowing!
in with know.

living is dying
knowing, a prison.
giving
that which can be neither given nor returned.



but i have a body -
specificity
containing

sever severance
and fall into falling
into falling
into

from phallic tendency
of need to sense the frontier
while
fading into the void
of not


encompassing encompassing

farewell,
echo of farewell.

oh! hello...

so
cold
too
warm
because
absolute
zero
ain't
here
or
since
it's
a
dead
stop
it
never
lasts
long
enough


motion is scary
and my chin is hairy
and my heart is wary - of even the smallest things

that's about all i'm sure of
besides Everything

as the moths fly in
again and again
to be seared or charred
and to curse this flame

flicker, flicker
or steadily burn -
either way they see
for either me they yearn

i am the flicker
and i am the flame
and i am the allure
and i am the pain

cannot one tell
as i burn in dark
it is she who is my lover
naked, stark

True
Is

mirror of This
unattainable that
relinquished and held
never not

never so

never not

never so


always the wrong ones
and never what stays
always the desire
never wholeness not wanting
always wanting not to be whole


so they come one
by one
desperate flight to
the promise of light

what the fuck?
what the fuck?
i can't even convey

what the fuck?
there's nothing i can say

to open your eyes to the context i reveal
so fixated on light
and alluring warmth you feel


you don't even see me

you see the light i shed

you don't even see me

the me you've perceived is dead

the me you cling to
perished,
this vibrant me in its stead


but you don't see me


just a husk, an echo of an echo
of an echo of the void


want me not as i need you not
i want to not need you
as you need to not want me
and if we both succeed
in needing not another
each I may find the other
cannot but be
whatever it is
that wicks you, dark, through each Me

appreciate

what's not
what is
not
what is

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

i'm back here again! the place in which i recurrently find myself believing that this is the only way i ever am.


i'm going to pirate my diary, because it'll make me feel good.

::


... I think I enjoyed myself. I mean, I remember my face contorting into smiles, and laughter issuing forth from my mouth - or, at the least, some chuckles and chortles. As far as feeling, though, I recall only the familiar awkwardness of anticipation of an emotion that I was unsure how to feel, the unease, of a sort I'll attempt to conjure a description for. Maybe it's the subtle, persistent and unavoidable sense that what I feel is a synthetic creation, a crude one at that, the foundation of which is a void, an apathetic observer - creating the "emotion" in order to appease the sense that the feeling "should" be there where it is not. I feel because I remember that I ought to, not as a response to the stimuli of the experience, directly, but because of an appraisal conducted and resulting in my conclusion that a certain emotional response would be appropriate.
Or maybe I'm bullshitting myself. Maybe I do feel something during the experience, but fail to remember it; or maybe I'm convinced that I feel nothing as the experience goes on, thus thwarting my ability to feel by anticipating feeling nothing and pre-empting any possible genuine emotional response with my chosen synthetic response.
I should write in this manner while I'm "feeling," and see whether my exploration/pursuit/search ends at a living, reactive core, or at a calculating void.
Right now, though, I feel like a shell, and I'd really rather feel raw and alive, vibrant and full of potential to feel my experiences.
So why this sense of regret, or how does it exist, if there is nothing in me that feels? I find that my desire to feel, my longing for emotion, is itself a feeling, backed by emotion. Cannot it be more dynamic? Can it only behold and desire, but not possess or be anything other than what it now is? longing?
Was just re-reading some of the better stuff (pertinent to what I'm pondering) near the beginning of this journal, and realizing that I've got a great foundation of theory (philosophy and belief), but am deficient in my ability to practice it, to enact it in my life and my separate experiences within it.
I just created the realization of something already existing. Of all the time I'd encountered three, the great significance of three to me, I'd yet to realize that I am three, not two.
Adam. Eve. I knew these.
The world. Our environment. The Composite. I'd failed to recall this me.
The Crier.
Not the emotion.
The Crier.
Not the reason.
i am earth moulded.
I am we three.
our inverse must be
together, we become the harmony that forms us Each.



::


i found some journal entries from 2002; they explore the same sense of not being that seems new to me every time - eight years ago, i wrote of it; eight [months, weeks, days] ago, i thought i was feeling it for the first time. man. that disharmony bug is a tricky summbitch.

just went to edit the previous post

and discovered that it had the exact meaning intended while writing - however, had forgotten what serves as the messages' source: the sun and the night; and the observer, providing the flesh of the child, life.

, the animated inert

the sun and the moon and the night.
the sun, father of light
beheld you, mother earth
and wished with you and the night to become life

blarg shnarg blugganarg [{cl}]

gribbum grabbum ectoplasm. epuhwhum moogley bum. marg-gammatoo ichtumbloo, echmach peldominitue; merdif low-low weggumind, plammint arwentood. alsiggy. alsiggy. projectile mocha related mishaps.

well, sorry to disappoint, but i won't bring myself to conjure further phonetic chaos. though it wasn't really chaos. though it was gibberish. there was a lot of order there.

i don't imagine that very many people would be interested until this point, or entertained. i'm not shooting for that. i'm not shooting for anything in particular. this post is probably turning out to be an apt example of what you'd encounter if you were to encounter me. though you may not recognize the substance within this post, or (were you to observe it) the vibrant canvas of creation that resides just behind my apparently normal, functional, friendly, loving demeanor.

the w4m section is pretty scary. i figured i'd post something to be buried with all the garbage that floods the m4w section.

maybe this is a stream of consciousness sort of work. though my typing can't keep up with the stream. it's winding up being more like a stone skipping across a stream of consciousness and transferring its impression of the particular portion of the surface that it impacts. i'm not high or otherwise chemically altered at the moment. i'm just bored and typing this bullshit - or whatever it is. i'm sincere, whether or not this all winds up being nonsense. and stuff.

ohm eye god.

maybe i'm a fan of phonetics. maybe i play around with them inside of my head sometimes. maybe this is the first time i've put the results of that particular sort of thought to some other medium (other than thought... ya know).

text sucks. you'll never hear me through this. i'm a fourth-dimensional consciousness existing within a three dimensional world, conveying thoughts through a two dimensional medium. language has such shortcomings. it's vast, and all - but, it's finite; it's one of so many points trying to represent a sphere, to convey something so far beyond it as to encompass.. well, more than language is sufficient to convey.

it's crossed my mind that, if you're reading this, you may be wondering what i'm "looking for." i've asked myself the same question, for your sake (and many times [on other occasions] for my own), and any of these answers are true: nothing; everything; something specific; many specific things; i dunno; "her;" companionship; reciprocity; balance; an echo, a portrayal of what i am perceived to be by some static point (your perspective) outside of myself - i bore me, i'm old news to me, though i may excite you; you; me; us, we, and to share the experience of shattering the bounds of the imaginary gulf between the two parties that comprise them ("you" and "me"); to get this, whatever it is, off of my chest and my mind - it's burdensome and annoying and persistent; understanding; to be understood; to be known; to know; relief; someone to relieve; love (it's all we need); someone whose mind, while perhaps often ordered and submissive to propriety's protocol, is often drawn to be more - something like an aircraft that spends most of its time taxiing amongst automobiles, i mean, isn't stuff so much simpler and so much more complex than people seem to tend to perceive it to be?; someone who, after reading this, senses something familiar or alluring rather than off-putting or seemingly insane; and stuff; and lots of other stuff; and the uncontainable; more. more. more.

i'm keeping this for me, too. i'm sure i'll like it some time.

i haven't evaluated what i've typed so far, or (importantly [it seems to be important within this very moment, at least]) whether or not i've managed to convey anything that i'd consider valuable or of merit - whatever that means. i've conveyed that i can properly utilize punctuation while ignoring letter case. there's got to be tons of stuff in between the lines, all the stuff that gets washed out of other composures that i measure and edit and "correct" and force to conform to what my proper sense dictates they should conform to. like my mannerisms in daily life; i'm a nice, proper dude - even if i am, lately (for the last two years or so), prone to delve into and share my thoughts of the intangible, regardless of the subject breached. it all relates to the intangible; maybe it's just not obvious sometimes or to some people.


i'm gonna re-read all of this, now.

nope, i don't see anything worthwhile thus far.

i don't really feel like trying for more. if i'd felt like trying in the first place, the result would have been much less accurate of a description of what i am, and a much more accurate description of what - when i'm thinking about what i am - i like to think that i am.


i'm fucking amazing and under-utilized.
i'm fucking brilliant and under-applied.

i could utter a syllable and send crashing to the ground the skyscrapers full of your doubt and the things that you've accepted as reasons why not. i could fix you with my gaze for an instant and catalyze a supernova from what was the meager spark remaining of your belief, of your sense of your own soul, of your passion, your awe.

i just can't do it for myself. well, i did, once. i came back, though. i can't recall why, though i once narrowed it down to my desire to bring others to the other side of the threshold i'd crossed. in order to humor this particular mindset/moodset, though, i'll color things a bit and say that i came back for you. yes, i'd be delighted to meet a friend or a lover with whom i'd share moments or the rest of my life, contiguously or sporadically, over few occasions or many - but i'm really looking for a relationship (the sharing between two apparently separate entities) that transcends definition beyond what's within the preceding parentheses. i think that's the answer to the question i gave the several answers to - i need to encounter someone with whom expectation is alien, and needs the same. i'm too dynamic to be defined. i am pure potentiality (or somewhere near as pure as it gets once distilled into this human form).


that is what i am this evening.

maybe that is what i always am, and this is just me realizing it as i too seldom do.

who are you?
what am i?
why are we?
i don't really care, except to be.

i'm a phoenix named icarus

i find myself feeling safest in this closet. i don't know what that means.