Felt like I was getting stabbed by invisible daggers through the heart whilst gently having my throat slashed last night. If anyone says to me ever that emotions are all in the mind I will proceed to call them a fool.
Three things are certain in life:
Could sound depressing that but turn it around….
1. I’ve always loved surprises, big or small.
2. Everyone dies one day and no one knows what happens next. Thinking about death is like pressing fast forward on your favourite music.
3. Sure, life can be shit, but change is the biggest thing in the universe! Change has always been there, and will go on for ever. Did a god or spirit create the universe? Maybe but before that there was change. Change will always be around. May as well embrace it!
I don’t know. If, but, and… do.
If change is infinite yet we experience stuff. Then perhaps stuff that we’ve experienced can be experienced again. Maybe from a different perspective. What’s going on? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know.
I like to think that infinity is absolute experience but also something beyond that. I currently experience things with this body and mind, in mostly similar places (all physical things). If you remember the possibility of infinite possibilities, it is maybe possible that once this physical experience is over, (Perhaps our visible universe dies and restarts a few times or something) maybe they’ll be something different to experience, something less painful, or something more painful. It’s all speculation. I honestly have no answers. Who knows?
I’m probably complicating things.
The idea is simple. Change is about cause and effect, a process, present as the laws of physics are now. But even change itself is subject to change. Whose to say when we’re all dead the laws of physics won’t eventually change? They’ve changed since the very early universe according to the large hadron collider (or so I am led to believe).
Whatever you think. Accept you thought it. Accept that eventually, it might be of no consequence. Things change. Things are destroyed and created all the time. Why? Can any living thing really know? Even the smartest brains are only a limited size after all.
Speaking for myself. It’s important to respect other’s right to think and believe what they want and like. I’m very cautious and careful about so many things. Just, in life I seem to have too much ‘faith’ in what could possibly be. I don’t fear death, nor do I understand it. However, I do want to enjoy life in the present at the same time, and a lot of my caution is preprogrammed (genetics/upbringing/instinct). I’m not a risk taker. That could change though.
Ok but tomorrow I’m reading how to melt cocao butter.
They all look the sane she said about your drawings.
It’s act one, still, in a play of actors and animals. At night and backwards, a colour-blind unripe banana looks towards you as you seem to be jumping on a deer, my dear. It’s a protest, acting your rage in front of two loud helicopters. Average salary is three sticks of celery and a hairy smokescreen. The windows are closed and the curtains shut, there’s a what? And it doesn’t look all that, good. Kazoo Solo and his wife look at tired imitation. Depressed on my chest is a chest of jewels and brass thinklets melting into a drip of squirrels. Building a fence is Kazoo and he’s using hockey sticks on a hockey stick ocean. Blurting and blubbering noises come from a helicopter and you are winched up inside a giant orange. The magic bus stop potion is ready as you fly off over the ocean. The rhymes stop, and the lizard flies its flirty eyes at your misdemeanour. It has reached the end and daylight breaks the glass hockey stick ocean and Kazoo is tired.
Everything I do just muddies the pond (what pond?). The pond I worked so hard on and that took so long to create!
The candles don’t burn any more and everyday I wait to be bound (to what?). Bound to some unknown solemn fate.
I don’t know where these sentences are from or what they mean but I suffer. Rise above the noise. Madness. Listen.
I must hide. My imagination becomes real when I get ill. For shame, I sometimes choose a miserable existence. In theory things must get better from this sad old place. In action, the theory fails magnificently when I get more and more comfortable with my delusions. I feel bad.