My thoughts flow in cursive & I can’t always read my own handwriting
What’s the matter
little light
being shaking
as if afraid
of the dark?
Inside me
a fiery fricative
consonant field
of plasma
(ie. an aberrant substance)
with so many
points of center
crosses
burning in all
directions, directing
some small thing
like a slip
of the tongue //eject
reject\\ react
by increasing
torque against
the pale blue dot
dangling, such
magnificent magnetic
eruptions already
pulsating from
the sun
sometimes just
wants to hide
but cannot
even in empty space
feeling constantly
exposed
and carving a track
in the dark, itself
a red dot
subject to creation
A thought :: an awakening is very interesting, because this is the epiphany moment into a new realization of being, a type of being that was always there but hidden from the mind. There are an infinite number of potential awakenings, because we can weave an infinite amount of stories, & stories stitch together our frame of being (or non-being, if that is the story). Because of this there is no ultimate enlightenment, we always have the potential to wake up again into a new story, though even a sliver of enlightenment contains the whole (which is, distilled into a single word, contentment)
Your face is fine
Make up your mind
You’ve got allotta reasons
To walk the line
An alibi
What’s left behind
I take it day by day
When I move through time
Step out of frame
All words are lame
I don’t know how to say
What I mean to convey
You got me thinking is this a simulation
Neil degrades Tyson says it’s an explanation
This might be heaven so don’t spend all your complaining