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in my experiments I am exposed. Where the hand of the cleansed pets my scalp, and digs its nails well under my meninges. And grasps onto my chiasm to force my head back out of where it rests, and where it’s been. And I see, the sky bore a pearl. The pinball above casts its atmosphere around us as a dome containing the fog of our skin. Shrouding my prints, and the tracks of my parents. And the map of our possibility is black as the forgotten while beneath. And when the hand releases, I fall to rest and exhaust my memory. And so it fades. Afterward, I walk a little past the white of our sclera onto the cornea, I feel chemical burns on my feet. But the warmth is so telling. So I look at the glow of the phosphorescent spots. They become real seeping through my sight from a figment to a child’s. And as I focus myself on them they grow and consume to create a light beyond the torches of my predecessors. It shows the path we must. Its ambiance lifts me from my souls and its light spreads my retinas to three dimensions over again. And as my skin disappears I see the marble. I reach, but I can only grab its ninth layer of armor. So I climb and conquer the phosphorus cushion to feel the dome. And I peer over it briefly before the shine in my lens smolders and my skull weighs me to the ground one step back. The cascade uninitiated, but close to repeating reliance.
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On my walk home from work at night, I pass it. I look into the church and see lights on inside and wonder who is up so late working on research or simply passing the time behind unknown walls. I wish to pass through the iron gates like a phantom in the night and idle as the stars die in my wake; never moving, never ceasing. Insomniacal practice. Haunting those who dare to grow their mind when it should be maintenancing in slumber. I look on with envy as the wisps remind me the gates are there for a reason, and my flesh is not permeable.
The towering architecture only looms over me to press it in. I pass it and think of what I could have been.
The towering architecture only looms over me to press it in. I pass it and think of what I could have been.
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yesterday, I sat in a movie theater, watching a 5/5 film, but somewhere between the frames, I slipped away in my own world. my eyes wandered around the room, scanning the foam-lined walls, the dust resting on cushioned seats, the soft glow of the screen flickering against strangers' faces. for a moment, I was no longer in the film— I was in my own world, watching, unnoticed, in a room full of people, feeling as though i am in a film myself.
it happens in the classroom too— pens scratching, pages turning, heads bent in deep concentration. and yet, I lift my gaze, watching the quiet rhythm of work, as if the scene before me is unfolding on a screen, as if I am only passing through.
maybe it’s a habit of slipping between worlds. one foot in reality, the other in observation. caught between being present and stepping back, seeing life not just as it is, but as a scene, a story, a moment unfolding. perhaps that’s the beauty of it — to exist both within and outside, to live and to notice, to be part of something yet still see it from afar.
Feb 22, 2025
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My mind randomly opened to the folds of reality, it feels like my brain and my consciousness were ripped into small shreds and spread across the earthhh.
I feel as if I am everything and nothing around me, I understand and don’t at the same time.
Like I’m peering into the minds of other whilst only seeing mine as well.
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🕳once I dreampt I fell in the crack of two pavement slabs. The fall was weak and subtle, but long and extensive. I could only reach the bottom once I braced myself, and I touched ground with my toes. Followed by heels. And I felt no pressure on my knees. But when I looked around it was so expansively dark, so clean and gradual. The floor looked like a gradient of baby blue to deep black in shadow. And the floor had such soft texture, trillions of tiny grooves and crevices to dozens of small gapes and caverns. Feeling it i felt like I was shaking a hand. And the blood of the opposing secreted out of it and into me, to warm me, to extend me. And after putting my palm against its, I felt my souls seep lower to feel it too. I had no shoes, no protection, I was naked. Exposed. But it felt so right when I lay on my back, my arms unparalleled. I felt euphoria like the calmest of deaths. And I lay still until I noticed the shift, I was on my feet again, my back on the wall now. And emerging from the limitless black I saw a glow of orange. Or pink. Or peach. A phosphorescent button held up by two eyes. And then a face. The structure was blue as the palm of my stability, and smooth as the wall behind. It points its fingers above us, and then to me. Where its omnipotent cornia traveled down its jugular to the four tips at my forehead. It left a sclera in its loss. And when it got that close, it burned me, it burned my soul, and it boiled my chemistry. And it pierced my forehead until I was blind. A blindness filled with color, and pattern. A blindness with utter understanding. I knew it all now, that this is my conscience. That this is experience, that this is existence. And I knew every word across each apparition of each tongue. This feeling dichotomizes my previous rest, and my future rest, but paralleled and copied our eternal form and sight. But when I grasped it all, I was lifted back above my concrete, my vision restored. My memory exhaust. In my knees. I see my door before its invert. With my hand still shaking its hand. And I look down to my feet, my toes warm, and the crack on my porch looking so familiar. So welcoming. Like the arms of my favor.
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🌱my Stance rely on Grass. perfect posture molt by the Ground. the Sun squeeze Me until I condensate and evaporate upon Myself. the Sky hooks my compulsion to release My hazy stare on It. I bend Myself to find My feet. and between My hooves I see the only Black atop the Green and surround by Sky. I understand I need to know This. I rise and Shamble through memories of the Grass. the Color changes as I explore but the wind blinks Its change sometimes to often. and when It does that I forget the first image, if I saw It again Id never learn. but One Thing stay real, the Black. but now, Its Brown below, and shaped closer to recognition. and after the repetitive process of gullible reconnaissance the Weather changes Its final time, It is clear. and when I look up, It is there. A clean Fawn-Crow. the Utter Reflection, of what is Mother. of What is calamity that is of Me. It Stands like I do, just as It rose and Stumbled along to Me, as I Stand and watch Its voyage closer to memory. and now I know what it all was for. but still, I want to Walk like that again. so I lay, and dream in the Light of the Sky, as Clouds perform.
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🏵You know once I read about a living man. I read that that man decided he was a woman. But not long after she said she was a man again. And after experiencing all and everything this world had to offer, he decided to deatomize. He wanted to be nothing. But what he didn’t realize is that nothing implies something, so instead of being nothing he decided he’d be everything. so in him he grew a star, then he grew two stars, then he grew three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until one of the stars got bored, there was nothing, so it decided it wanted to be nothing, and it died. But what it didn’t realize is that it was too much to be nothing. So in its corpse it grew a pretty little rock, then two, then three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until those Little Rock’s adopted themselves to the other stars nearby. And circled and played around them until two of the pretty rocks had an accident. One of them hit another, and the one that got hit grew, and the other shrunk. And that big rock became angry and the small one mockingly rotated it taking all its sight staring it in the eyes. And the big rock while enraged crackled and popped, and grew layers upon itself for so long. And once it was completely shelled off from everything else, something clicked. On it it now carried a cell. Now there was something that can experience. Now there was a reason for anything to happen, and everything but only within the steps of this eye. So now it all grew and became elegant. All showing off to this pretty rock. And few angry asteroids later, and a few orgasms, and a little blood. There was a living boy, and that boy grew into a living man. This living man would have a story written about him, and he would read it, and he would say it, and he would scream it, and he would realize it. And so life now birthed. Birth is metaphase. Death now understood as mitosis reversed. everything became real. we as I now see our reflections as my daughters and your parent. Breath through our lungs now.