Normal people aren't anxious and explaining their existence’s to everyone else wholly within their own mind’s. Most people don't do that. Some people do. I'm one of those people.
The abnormal fantasied reality within my conception plays exciting and often scary acts with peaking and valleying performances within. It's not real; however, I am real, so in a way it is. At least to me. And it's a reality that I face and must tame daily in order to be seen as “normal”. What ever the **** normal means anyway. Sometimes I want to run away and other times I'm too fatigued by trying to care. In stark contrast to when I get caught up in the whirl wind of passion and ideas and I want them to be tangible so bad that I sit and create. The mind loses focus. I look away for a second to make something else... That is if it's not another one of those times that I become so burnt out from the fires of present tasks of building the unreal into the real that I regress.
But I digress.
When I look back at what I've done, and it just seems like a distant memory becoming more and more distant with every passing moment of observation I can't help but get the stirring feeling to get caught up in the whirl wind once more and make a new idea. A new passionate thought forms and the creations can't help but take place. The moment is really the only thing I know for sure. It's not a dream it's as real as being awake, or at least I'd think that until it too becomes just another one of those distant memories; another one of those things amongst all things.
But perhaps I'm just projecting...
Senses; those funny things. Almost as funny as the mind that decodes their meanings. The human presence. The spirit within. the very soul. Like mine that has seemed to ache more than it has not ached. I look at all the things, big and small on the place where I currently reside in the universe that houses me. “Relative,” says one man. “Frequency,” says another. People say a lot of things. Especially to one another. What else would understand? Let alone who? Do you even understand you? I'd ask. A dog would pant, and I'd pat its head knowing all to well that we both got the meaning. So easy to try and do. So difficult not to. And if I changed the positions of the subjects it would be equally as true.
But that’s just the moment now as it would have it...