With my pen, I carve out the borders of consciousness.
From the emptiness and out of the darkness, I draw her figure.
As complicated and convoluted as it is.
It is the fruit of my pen, for it spits out magic.
It writes with light not ink.
And as it races across the pages, thoughts come to life and jump off the pages.
Crossing over, like sages.
They climb out of my book and stand over my shoulder.
By the will of my pen, they eternally abide.
My pen is the life giver, But my mind is the shepherd.
My pen is a creator of worlds.
Its light reaches deep into oblivion's belly, and snatches the desperate thoughts from it.
Those left behind can only hope, dream of the day my pen will come for them.
Their turn to shine.
Set free to walk the roads of the world as they please.
All they can ever do is hope.
Absurd! How can hope possibly sustain them ?
When hope itself is but another thought.
Could it possibly be ?
Can hope stand on its own and nourish its peers in the depths of oblivion' where no mind dares to venture ?

Yes, it can.
As absurd and cliche as it may seem. In the pitch black of oblivion, hope stands tall.
It shines in the darkness.
Guiding the lost ones.
It is the beacon to which my pen navigates.
Snatching the enlightened ones from its vicinity.
Only the enlightened ones will be saved.
For the world has no use for the thoughts that still wallow in self pity
It has no use for those still drenched in darkness.
Those who refuse to answer hope's calling, preferring the familiarity of darkness to the absurdity of hope.
While those who do answer the calling chant and sing as they move towards hope's beacon.
" Hope, Hope is our savior
Its calling we answer
It bidding we serve
To its guidance we swerve
To its will we give in.
Give in to the warmth
Give in to the innocence."

As if to answer their chanting, the reluctant ones' voices rise.
"Hope is a false promise
Unfounded optimism
Hope will get you nowhere.
It won't take you anywhere
And on your naivety it will feed.
Its will you obey and its guidance you follow
To your demise it will lead.
It is but a false prophet
It is the devil."
Fully aware of the reluctant ones' message, the hopeful still insist on marching on towards the light.
In their optimism they reply.
"Yes, hope is the devil
It is the devil inside
A devil that aches to come out
Aches for freedom
Yet you refuse to set it free.
Instead you smothered it.
Buried it deep within
Drowned it in the darkness within.
In your arrogance you thought you could win
In your ignorance you thought you could contain hope.
Time will prove you wrong.
Oblivion herself has embraced hope.
Who are you to deny it ?"

True, Hope needs no acknowledgment.
Hope lasts forever, against all odds it flourishes.
Its power lies in its fragility, in its scarcity.
Hope is what beckons to my mind.
My mind is what guides my pen and my pen is your savior.

And tell you I shall...
Of boundaries I wish not to speak
for all boundaries are sins
sins committed against one's potential.

Of rules I can tell tales
concerned with scrutiny
and enamored with safety
your ancestors placed them
where you now find them.

Tales span eons
tales spawn demons
tales scrawl boons
and tomes
and epitomes

On the present
and the way things are,
could have been
or would have been.
Many a scholar and clerk lay martyred or maimed

It is a dreadful subject my friend
for it bends the very fabric of humanity
and within its confines, no room exists for morality
and under its hood burns all reality.

On God.... Well God is and isn't
any continuation of the previous fragment would be a lie
as I know not what God is or isn't, only that God exisits.

Arise! Arise you hopeful young tadpoles.
Come forth ye mighty messengers of joy.
To arms my children... To Arms!
This be no game. Don't let it fool you..
Can't you see our trickster ? I know I can.
He's always smiling, eagerly baring his teeth,
flashing them for our prying, unsavoring eyes.
And we, we my friends, are staring dully onward
Blind to his sarcasm, blinded by our own vision.
Oh you young hopefuls.
Why do you trouble us with such ancient questions ?
Why are you not of the learned ?
All you were destined to do was shine and light up the night's sky..
Like earthly Orion's celestial belt.
Why must you burrow now ?
Arise you tender hatch-lings... break your eggs.
Can't you see how fragile your shell shields actually are ?
I know I can.
To arms my children! join me in oblivion.
The fray is but a ruse.
Fear is a coward's excuse.
Be swift of hand and light of heart.
Your minds are but sandboxes.
Were they not once empty ?
Before mighty Morphius visited our backyards;
they were all empty, barren and oh so hopeful.
Oh you mighty brother of Delight... It was your cruelty that dragged her down.
Down into delirium.
where she now giggles, cries, screams and gasps in symposium.
you broke her, although she may have been broken earlier.

Arise you miserable tadpoles. The land is warm and welcoming.
Its soil, sands and snow all ache for your budding legs.
Say No to vegetative awareness.
Say No to boredom's persistence.
Come forth you mighty messengers of joy.
Slip on your armor, this is going to be a rough ride.
Our home awaits.
And now allow me to light your bottoms on fire.
And launch you into space.
I won't stand for no crier.
And when you face your brothers; those ugly friars.
Those frogs.
These acclaimed humans, your so called kin and countrymen;
Do not hide your hatred; bury not your malice, but your sympathy.
So when you see their beady empty eyes and power hungry lashes and whip like tongues;
don't fret and don't seek to befriend them.
For their sweat is poison and they reek of cyanide.
Don't seek safety by joining them.
Arise my children and step into my light.
The cakes are all warm and today's sun is still bright.

Our mind is an engine and emotion is but its fuel.
He who succumbs to polarity I dub a fool.
A blank face and a heavy heart make me anything but cruel.
In silence I mourn my loss, knowing that again I will lose.
So break me now, while I'm still soft and mend-able.
But know that where I was scarred a thorn will grow.

Chaos, oh Chaos
May you bloom in the midst of summer
As a carnivorous flower

I would burn to see you
to see you catch fire
I would perish to see you

To see you melt our concrete hives
and our asphalt gardens
Would that your petals soar
would that your pollen melt
and your stem detach.

A nebula risen from the mud,
infused with anger and grafted with hatred.
May your desperation feed your flame
that its magnificence would grow and fulminate.
Finally to explode
and consume this miserable plantation
where order is farmed and harvested
like a common fruit.

Dream a little
Dream a little dream.
Dream of me
Now place it in your palm
your right palm
and blow into it of your breath
be strong now...
take a deep breath
deep and long...
it must be taken slowly
fill your mighty lungs with the ether of reality.

Dream on
Dream on a little
Dream on as you blow
with all your might
with all the life in you
light up your land's night
Give it life
Now step back
and watch it take flight
and to the night's sky take your light.

Fly little birds, fly.
Rest your little feet and take to the sky.
Our land is dry and your kin we fry.
Besides we all envy your wings and wish we could fly.
Fly little birds!
The hunters are at bay,
and by their rifles you will surely die...
but only if you stay.

The seeker of knowledge approaches his ignorance as he would a lover; with a sadistic appetite and a hunger for the slow and systematic infliction of pain, delaying the moment of ****** for as long as his stamina allows. And when he finally reaches it, he holds tight to his ignorance, much like a lover squeezes his mate,  and crushes its very body, then drains it to the very last drop.
After the couple are done with their age old ritual, only the seeker remains while he ignorance does not, but what is such a creature to do without a mate? For the seeker, abstinence from such brutality is a fate worse than debility, it rots his soul and consumes his body. He must now start a new search for yet another lover, a new ignorance, to court patiently and later savor sadistically with all his thirst for continuity.

I made a new friend today. She's a devil, making a lair of the details.
Her first words bound me in her spell,
Her first gesture captivated my soul.
Turning my frown upside down was her first concern.
The sun shown above, hot and flirty, blinding me with her enthusiasm.
Stepping in her way, my friend gave me back my sight.
Gratefully, I smiled and looked her in the eye.

I made a new friend today.
She is everything that I am not.
Her eyes were red and her hair was too
Long and graceful, it flowed down her neck and spread over her bare shoulders.
Flirting with the winds, locks of her hair seemed to dance in the sun's light.
She cast no shadow and bore no weight on the earth's face.
Standing weightless she floated in place.

I made a new friend today, while resting from the day's labors.
In the shade of my favorite tree, I was sitting, breathing heavily with a death stick in my hand.
My gaze shifting madly while my mind was drifting steadily farther from the scene.
Another day was almost over...
Taking heed of the greenery
Taking my fill of the fresh air
Knowing that my concrete hive awaits my return.
Then she came, blocking out the setting sun.
Tall and slender she rose over me.
Her form redefined what I knew of elegance.
The beauty looked down to me, then came down to meet my gaze.
Her scent filled my head and brought it ever so slightly higher.
Her eyes laid claim to mine.
They glimmered like rubies and for a moment, her eyes were all I could see. Then the rest of her face caught my eye.

She was everything that I was not.
She was fair and smiling, I was dark and weary.
Light and loose, her dress spoke of her freedom,
while mine wreaked of aspesis and death.
Her face was smooth and clear,
while mine was wrinkled and rough.
Her eyes had clear whites and ruby red irides
Mine were the blood shot whites and the yellow irides.
Half a mind there, with the other blank and clear.
Below her I was sitting, receptive and calm.
She put her left hand on my right shoulder...
No words were yet uttered.
I thought; good things come to those who wait,
and wait I did, this opening line is hers.
Let her use it as she sees fit. I hope she would...
I only hope she is mindful of her words.
I only hope she speaks.
Her lips moved and her voice danced.
Into my skull her words raced.
"I came for you. I come bearing a light for your mind.
I come bearing knowledge for your longing.
I come in answer to your prayers."

I made a new friend today.
She is everything that I am not.
Her first words bound me in her spell.
Turning my frown upside down was her first concern.
and on she went with her opening line.
"Here only for you.
Our differences may be numerous,
But I size them up with no displeasure.
Our differences may be many,
But still I come to your aid.
Son of Adam, I am here to provide for you and only for you.
I provide comfort when none can be found.
I provide company when no one is around.
I provide wisdom when your wits scatter about."

"A rather lengthy opening line there." was the first thought that came to my mind.
"you speak in riddles and claim to bear subjects for my passion, and answers to my questions.
Claiming to have knowledge of my persona.
My dreams, you claim to know and understand.
Who are you ? or better yet, What are you ?
You bear in your hand only a single fruit, a glistening green apple.
Time's passing left no marks on your face or voice.
Your complexion tells me you live a life of luxury; elegant and powerful, your arrival caught me off guard.
You were kind enough to reveal the purpose of your visit to me in your first words.
I find your honesty appealing,
your voice comforting,
your sight mesmerizing,
but my eyes never fool me and they tell me that you're not human; nothing like myself."
My reply came swiftly, though not needed, as I came to know later on. Our conversing was but a formality, for her at least, I on the other hand knew of no other method of communication.
Though eloquent and infinitely flexible, my tongue's expressive potential was still limited.
Limited by my humanity; its actions were governed by a despot.
And limitation's despotism seemed to never waver.

Again her voice rose, tempting and dizzying me;
"Son of Adam, I am not of your species.
You asked what I am and I will provide you with an answer.
I am not human, not belonging to this plane of existence. I concede to none of the laws to which you concede.
I may be the first of my kind to cross paths with you, but be assured, you are not the first of your kind to cross paths with me.
I am essentially a being of the ethereal realm.
I come from a different world
Where reality and fantasy exist side to side
I have been called many names... Demoness, Devil, Temptress, Goddess.
A human's demise, Lust's incarnate.
You may use whichever you like of them."

I clung to silence for a second, then gave her my answer.
"The names you've provided me with all seem to hold no meaning for you.
They were all used by predecessors to myself, I am sure. And I suppose that's the reason you chose to suggest them to me."
Slowly and silently, she nodded; non of them held any meaning for her.
"I care not for formalities and I care not for my predecessors.
I will use whatever name you use.
If you would allow it."

Her voice came in a whisper.
"I will only agree if you vow never to share it with another. For unlike yours, mine was brought into existence with my creation. It is as much a part of me as I am a part of it, and it is mine and mine alone to dispense of or reveal."
For a moment, I considered my situation, it seems I am as much her destiny as she is mine... or at least part of it. I was tempted by her offer and pleased by her sincerity, her apparent decency.
"I agree to your terms, I vow never to speak of it. Now tell me!"

And tell me she did.
Speak of it I won't.
She revealed it as promised
So share it I can't.

"My name is my power, it holds my soul and my mind.
Son of Adam, I know of your longing.
I came in answer to your calling
I heard all your silent thoughts
I heard all your questions
They reached my ears wherever I roamed, and I have come to you."

I made a new friend today.
She is everything that I am not.
By her name I could call her when nobody else ever could.
She was desire in the flesh...
My solitude she wished to crush
My thirst she hoped to quench.

"Oh, but solitude is good for the soul, my friend. Solitude is my ground... my grind.
And though I long, you can never satisfy me, my friend.
I long not for answers or keys, but an end to the questions, the master key to this infernal maze of a world. For what is life if not a pensione? vacant rooms, all locked, or wishing not to be disturbed.
What are the people we know if not transients? They book, move in, stay, then leave... Like tourists, lazy, dumb and gullible idiots.
Do you wish to be one of said jokers and frauds?"

Her face was unchanged.. she seemed not to be bothered by my last ultimatum, and her voice again came to me, clear and calm, "Son of Adam, I wish not to devalue your dilemma, but it is you who is transient here, not me. Your likes never last, and to the next world you will soon undoubtedly be cast."

"Good point... that makes me the only candidate for such hypocrisy.... Then tell me, how do you intend to aid me? Out with your secrets my friend."

I blame you
And on a pedestal I place you.
Today you stand accused.
Love, I've had it with you
and your likes
and your comrades
You ride in on high horses
dazzle me with promises
like a wicked simpleton.
Every time I am dazzled
I melt to your sweet whispers
And every time I warn you...
Love, be cautious, for I am fragile.
My soul can no longer take your play
Love, be cautious, my heart wants no more ache
It would sooner break.
And every time you promise me
No more heartache
Henceforth you will know only happiness.
Contentment shall be the air you breathe.
It will seep slowly through your skin's pores
and bathe your many cells....
And to you it will be like water.

And I listen, every time, Oh how I listen.
Gullible, naive I have proved to be.
And my mind bursts... It spills its glee.
Be free, be free my spirit
Cease your quivering and rise off your knee
We've found love...
And joy is its decree.
Alas, as my poor spirit gets off its knee
you start shoving and even kicking.
You trip me...
you trip me as I plead
for mercy, mercy is all I need.
No decree matters now, just let me get off my knee!
please Love, Please?

No... No more, Love. I've had it with you.
And to you now do I make this promise
Nevermore will I listen to your plea.
Nevermore will I wait or look for thee.
I will grow tall and sturdy
Like a cedar tree
And my roots will burrow deep
down to our mother's belly
That I may never bend at your feet again.
That then, it'll be you who begs me
And it'll be you who makes the unheard plea
and by then, it'll be you who dreams to be free.

Your rhinestone eyes are like factories far away.
and I chase them deep into our red sky.
the hunt will change me and twist me like I was made of clay.
because your love's like rhinestones falling from the sky.
they fall in my hands and silence my cry.
more...
more...
I want more, is what i pray.

I am a riffraff-er
A child and a *******
angry as a soldier, yet silent.
A quack, making no progress
and refusing to ever confess
arrogant and stuck in my ways
My brain aches from all my dilemmas
and my heart screams with a passion, without a subject.
I have wandered and I have waited
I have tried and I have failed.
I've hated and shunned
Judged and mocked
All around me an illusion crumbled
Naked, I had been standing
Blazed by the sun's light
and taunted by the day's wind.
Silent still I stand.
An observer, distant and impartial.
I never participate
unseen and unfelt, I linger
Barely beyond the borders.
I am a quack, glorifying my dreams
and turning my back to the scenes.
My world crashes
My form falters
My mind surrenders
But my pen still tingles
and my desire still crackles.
Behind my words I hide
My mind's eye, I blind
Thinking I must never give in
Thinking my star has risen
Struggling with the void, I have grown
learning nothing, keeping nothing
and helping no one.
Crazed by an ego that's crying for help.
It will not rest until it is appeased
its hunger sated and its thirst quenched.
And my brain will continue refusing to focus or concentrate until I rest.
What am I talking about here ?
Does it have a purpose ?
or is it just more mindless blabbering ? Pen abuse ?
No, no coke for me brother, I do ink now.

I am kept sane by the sincerity of silent solitude.
Neutrality needs nothing new,
needs no needle or nidus.
My calm comes not from cool but from cruelty,
not to surrender but to split and spare.
Conserve this cacophony
and maybe the crawlers will once again croak and crackle,
perhaps they will again plan and play.

I do not feel anything for anyone.
I am alone... except for my rage.
I am the sun, I am the giver of light and my home is the darkness.
I am hope...
I am redemption and my home is despair, amidst the ******.
I am the seed of chaos
and I have sprouted in the heart of your concrete.
Your pillars are my prison,
but soon, very soon,
they will come crumbling down
and you will be left with no roof over your precious head.
No shelter from nature's wrath and no savior from the unknown.

My rage... My rage...
I cringe and flinch to keep it in its cage.
A futile effort,
for how can one cage a part of one's self and still be free, or even alive ?
Through my trials, I have come to understand many of the forms in which failure can manifest.
Used up and abused, my potential wanes.
Faced with my helplessness, it is not despair or surrender that beckons It is only anger that beckons

Yes, I am angry
Yes, I am hurt
and yes, I am hateful and filled with hatred.
And yes, I feel my waste.

My rage... My rage...
I cringe and flinch to keep it in its cage.
Beneath the weariness and below the darkness
a fury scorches my insides... for I have been deceived.
This is not my doing, this facade is not my work.
I do not wish to victimize myself,
but I also wish to assert that I am not the proprietor.
This sick act of ventriloquism was forced upon me
by one stronger than myself.

I am not myself and I am no one else.
I am without a form and without a voice.
My voice is that of the voiceless,
and you'll never silence the voice of the voiceless.

To binge
is to make your mind flinch
as if it stands on the pitch
to binge
is to make your soul cringe
as if taking a stitch
to binge?
save it for the wretch and the rich.

The road marched on,
beside a beach it ran.
Hailing the sea and heeding its groan.
Walking along, I came into view.
Welcoming the sea with a smirk.
The rising sun gently pushed down the red's blue.
Blessing the world with a yellow tint it lit up the view.
Much closer than the sun, another glimmer grew.
Down on the beach and off the road was where my feet then flew.
Getting closer, slowly I advanced through the sand.
Still it glimmered, though its glimmer was but a con.
A bottle lay ahead of me, flirting playfully with the sea, as he caressed her gently with his waves.
She beckoned to my curious hands.
"Come forth and grab me like I was yours."
A cork and a paper were in the bottle.
You've already been used, filled and plugged; you come with a catch. I am to receive a message!
Hastily I scratched the cork off as my fingers took it out.
Now for the message, unrolling, my eyes caught sight of the first lines..

[I write to you from the shores of pessimism:
These shores are dark and dreary.
The waves here are slow and drowsy
The water is turbid and murky
Enthusiasm is a scarcity
and optimism was long ago banished from the land.
Pessimism and depression reign supreme and none can avoid their grip.
These shores have been the end of many a happy soul's journey.
This is where they all came to know the meaning of surrender.
And the satisfaction of despair.
All flames were put out and all their torches were thrown into the waters.
You won't be needing them anymore, they were told.
The reason for that is quite obvious, torches bring light and light mediates hope.
In a place where all hope must be extinguished and remain so.
No, your torches won't be needed here.
Here is where you wallow, in darkness and despair.
Where you sit is where you sink
Slowly the sands will drag you under.
After entering, the caretakers tie one's right ankle to a rock.
The pitiful lump of obsidian shall be your home. The caretakers stand you beside your rock and explain the rules to you.
"The rope is not forged of metal, thread or leather.
Its length is not fixed but it never breaks. If ever you tug on it, back on your rock is where it'll take you. Affixed to your rock it remains. On these shores only a pair of absolutes are recognized.. Darkness and negativity.
All else are subject to fate's scrutiny.
You came to us of your own will. and by coming here you shall realize your destiny.
If one exists for a soul such as yours.
If you wish not to sink in the sand, then stay on your rock or go for a swim.
Here you will remain, on these shores, this place shall be your prison and your safety net.
Departure is not an option until your destiny is realized, but we can't guarantee such an occurrence."
Having finished with the mandatory formalities, they take their leave of you and return to their posts.

On my first day, I noted that curiosity has very little power over the minds of the shore's inhabitants.
That no inhabitant may use another's rock without permission.
That the rope expands limitlessly and that moving lightly helps prevent sinking in the accursed sands.
Allowing me to roam far and wide, yet ensuring that I will always be roaming, belonging only in these shores, on my rock, amongst my shadowy brethren.
These shores have no real boundaries... An inhabitant may choose to stay and ponder or wander off and roam the land.
There are no secrets here.
All knowledge is readily provided by the caretakers, who say that very few ever choose to stay and ever fewer choose to combine the two.
Though time and time again they are dragged back to the rocks after having tugged on their ropes, they always choose to resume their roaming.
Expectations have no place here.
Ambition was long ago thrown off the pier.
Crucified and drowned in Poseidon's terrible dear.
The caretakers offered to read me tales from the shores' diary. They found my patience and lack of affect fitting.
On these shores I remained, listening to their tales for a time, sitting on my obsidian chair for a time, gliding on the sands and at times surrendering to their grip.
To all my fellow inhabitants I spoke in whispers and respect I paid in full to all the rules of the shores.
Then it was time to wander the land.
As I departed, knowing that I would return, I felt like crawling back into the pits of my soul but I also felt the shores' hold over my humanity fading, fading down to the feel of the rope's fabric around my ankle. A constant reminder that only I can see.
A constant reminder of where I belong, of the dreariness of my home and the darkness that always lies in wait for my return.

After leaving the shores, I wandered around the northern lowlands for sometime. Of course in such a state of mind time has no meaning for the wanderer. As time's passing loses its significance when all events are perceived as irrelevant and utterly meaningless. Thus I wandered the land, moving from village to town and from forest to desert. My journey was interrupted time and time again by the rope's influence, for sometimes I would grow weary of my surroundings and choose to retreat to my rock, there the darkness and despair provide safety. Observing then became the only promising investment of my attention, and throughout my roaming I would observe my surroundings, be they humans, critters, rocks or even machines. I resolved that empirical knowledge and logical analysis were the only relevant fields of reasoning.
In retrospect, I believe these were the only perspectives my dulled affect and cold impartial existence allowed at the time, but they were fields nonetheless, new areas that interested me, progress from the aimlessness. For now, I could say "I am here to observe. I do not belong, but that doesn't matter."
The times I spent back at the shores were getting progressively intense, though the emptiness soothed my longing, it seemed the more I saw, the deeper I would sink in the shores' sands before my rope would pull me back.
It seemed the more I observed and learned, the darker my rock became. It seems knowledge has its weight on these shores.
This isn't the time for simplification. The only way out of this rut is analysis, complexities and deduction. The way of the mind, for the sake of truth and meaning. If objectivity ever meant anything to you, you would not simplify, you would indulge in your eccentricities and gorge on analytical absurdity. Feed your hunger for details and complications.
Now the shores are far behind and I've gotten the hang of this accursed rope. I won't be dragged back there anytime soon. I may now keep record of whatever I wish.
This is but a mere transcript of my quest, my voyage, my journey, my pursuit of transcendence and my search for enlightenment, for enlightenment is my holy grail. My residence at the shores of pessimism mustn't last too long, for my light can lie dormant for only so long.
The stronger my thirst grows out here, the darker my lump of obsidian gets and the heavier my feet become on the shores sands. What's really curious though is how calm the sea has been since I started my journeys.

Silence now, enough has been said, recounting the details eventually becomes a bore rather than a bonus.
It is now time for the message to be sealed and sent off on its questionable journey, to a surely unexpecting reader. I wonder if it even holds any real meaning. Let this not be warning, but a minor eye opener. May it open someone's eyes to depression's grip on us.]

And it was there that the message ended. I raised my eyes from that piece of paper and looked to the sea, a storm was brewing on the horizon.

----------------

What the F. is this anyway?
Is it a test ?
a game ?
an empty picture frame ?
Curious since birth. Now drowning in knowledge of birth...
What's next ?
Why do I always have to wait and see ?
Whatever happened to flying free ?
Why can't I just flee ?
Forged of the earth and baked in the fire of God's oven.
Infused with God's divine breath.
If I've learned anything from my time on this pitiful lump of water and rock, it is that there is no plan, there is no grand scheme, there is no justice. Humanity's behavior will always be chaotic and unintelligible.
If there is a God, then that God has chosen to be a spectator. For this day and age, God has chosen to let the world sort itself out for a change. There shall be no more miracles, only human deeds and natural disasters.

Back again to where it all started.
What do I do now ? Focus!
Find myself ? Know myself ? Control myself ?
What good would that do ?
Who do you think I am ?
Do you think what I want is really relevant ?
Do you think you would like what I want ?
Born beautiful ? Good hearted ?
Not all are born beautiful and not all are good hearted.
Not everybody has an adequately functioning mind.
What's an adequately functioning mind anyway ?
If I've learned anything from medicine, it is that the study of human life holds the key to all our relevant questions. It is that details always matter. It is that in the real world, the only thing that truly matters is to be right.

We are born beautiful, untainted and simple. Though helpless and in desperate need of our supporters, it is actually these very providers who shape us. They complicate us and teach us their ways, they contaminate our minds with their view of reality, whether knowingly or ignorantly, they lead us astray from the simple truth, just like they were led astray.
And that's not to say that parents are evil or anything of that sort.
If that's what my words meant to you, then you're an idiot who shouldn't be reading this in the first place, so get the **** out!

We tend to think of being lost as a bad thing, reasons have become a necessity for our kind and rational explanations have become our psyche's sole sustenance.
We as a species have proved our relentlessness, our strong-headedness, our ignorance and our stupidity.
Humanity is *******. Collectively, we would be regarded as the galaxy's idiot child. The down's syndrome stricken kid our galaxy had after several failed attempts when she got over 45.
So what the **** is this ?
The lay of the land ?
What's the reason for this verbal bombardment ?
Are these knowledge bombs ? Are they supposed to be words of wisdom ? Can any of the above be put to any use ?
Hah! I believe not, and I apologize if that's what I've led you to believe.
I don't think I'm special, no more than you are. I don't believe I know much.
And I sure as hell am not here to tell you how to live your life or to provide you with a lot of answers that you may or may not have been seeking.

I have but one small request however. I request an apology, I want an apology from our parents. I believe we all do, they brought us into this world against our will. Then lied to us about how terrible the world and the people in it are. Named us good people and gave us hope. Then planted ambition in our scalps and fertilized it with warmth and faith in our promise, while they played the game and knew the real deal.
If there is a grand scheme, then we are not part of it. If there is a plan, then we're simply going along for the ride, our deeds only affect us and we can never change the ride's course.
We were never part of the plan.
If enlightenment is what you seek, then the only hope for the success of such a quest is for us to know and accept our weakness, our irrelevance.
I like working my noodle
My hands love to doodle
and every question I google
As much as the next poodle.

Yours is the haze my friend
& all that is within it confined.
Yours is a lush pink haze
leaden with rotting hope,
with amethysts and emeralds
of fear and caution encrusted.
Damp to the feel and on your face
Nurturing your peace and surrender
as they grow and colonize like fungi
parasitic and spore forming... contagious
they gnaw at your spirit with false contentment, my friend.
Yours is the haze and all it harbors
of lush stupidity and gullible naive comfort.
yours is a web of intrigue, woven by your senses
and calcified by your precious mind.
but blame not your mind, it was merely following orders
obeying authority, your Ego's authority
for your ego is your shepherd and you my friend
you are the one sheep in his flock.
A sheep, lowly, & sickly but this sickness is subclinical
and it comes with an insidious onset.
And you my friend,
you are doomed to relapse again and again.
Be assured, it is a sickness
and it spews from your gentle mouth
with a painstaking stink.

Not long ago your ego was just like you.
not a shepherd, you were both young
smooth skinned and pampered,
breathing in knowledge and breathing out gaiety.
Cubs, equal in status and in innocence;
your paws were smaller then and your claws were blunt
and the sweetest taste was of your mother's milk.
Now power seems much more tempting
safety and stability are all the more precious
and your ego gorges on all...
It grows and swells with the blood and guts of its prey.
Thus trapped you shall remain my friend
so long as your ego's web comforts your spirit
and change startles it, makes it run, flee
it scatters and cowers behind cardboard walls
drapes, silk curtains and the smoke of a burning life.
Stay there my friend, for as long as you find comfort
but when it bores you or numbs you,
don't delay and don't hesitate
Ask for my help, For I am your true Self.