As long as I can remember I have always hated meaning. Everything just has to be under this box, so we can understand it. I say **** it, surprise surprise surprise

From this day I can tell that there is only one truth, that i now for sure is real. The one truth is that all meaning is MADE UP. Religious ideas, political ideas, psychological models—all made up. Our brains are meaning making machines. Put an image in front of me and I’ll make meaning of it. I’ll interpret it based on what I ALREADY know.

On the other hand I think I might be crazy for saying this, and my criticism to all can't be explained easily, not from me at least. BUT what if every truth we think know, or are told, is just lies based on each others believed lies, and oh there it is ****, again
stop already

And then, when something happens that is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before, I’ll stump myself. I’ll be at a momentary loss until I can categorize, label, identify—all of which are ways of making meaning.
Which I think totally ruins the happening, but sometimes are necessary. But the thinking of it has finally let me understand why i always feel so ******* fake. I'm always the copy, of a copy, of a copy...

I couldn't keep myself to keep me from you.
No one but you put me in such rooms
rooms with so much desire, only you were shown.
Somewhere only i make mistakes

How do you know if what you want is worth it?

A little bubble. So frothy and ebullient.
You still cannot fill something with more than it can hold. Eventually it will crack or over float. And look, so immense and heavy i've become.
Why did he fill me with tears instead of bliss?

From time to time i get sad about things that rests in someone else's hands. Things I can do nothing, but anything about.

At other times i get sad because of Nino. His usual enthusiastic voice is now only him, a little higher on apathy, and I can no longer be used.
Not today. Not for a very long time.
But sure, i'll be standing free from questions when you come back for a night.

Many say felicity is so light, you will rise on it. I so do hope, one day I will cross a sincere. He could let me fly.
But who has that much pity?