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.