me? im a whole lotta broken. i wanna get fixed. dont know how tho - OR if its even possible. is it? i mean, the only antidote to the blah and blek and ugh and err is, for me at least, a blank page with a waiting blinking cursor. ahh, pure potential. infinite vistas of what-if. a path not taken is a beinglessness that feeds the imagination with pure uncut raw light extending back into the original whothefuckknowswhereitcamefrom wick that bore its birth... BUT i always manage to mess that up with words words words. so, what then? where from here? i dunno. and i am upsettingly ok w the the idunno, which, sadly is most likely going to lead to me being on the street. my ambition is err not good, at all... its way bad.. i swear to eff i once had a waking vision while nestled deep in meditation of all my previous incarnations - i was a sloth with a lazy eye for, like, ten thousand and ten generations. mmm, now THAT was the life. it was a comfy series of infinite expressions, till that **** ape-turned-human decided to exist and in doing so somehow managed to motivate my precisely calibrated aeon-long string of slothness into idk maybe not sleeping for 20 hours a day?? cutting it down to ohidunno 18 hours.. that was the first initial step. now, im a sentient ambling bipedal brain-heavy avatar that is oh so aware of itself, aka human, and tries to distract itself from the deep abiding blankness that pulses and pumps jus below the left-center breastbone by writing meh poems to pass the time. or maybe there is something there.. i dunno. maybe there is a wholeness. maybe the feeling i get when i can be weird in front of somebody else, and that feeling i get when i stare into the eyes of another person and know that they like me just as much as i like them, and that feeling of community, that yay burning sensation within that drums together like a kirtan, stoking stoking, stoked till all our very molecules begin to budge and shake and evaporate, rising like a riproaring pyre enlightening the nite sky, a light going on forever and ever, reaching past the final last outstretched fingertip of cosmos itself, back into the womb of Her.. and in doing so dimming the fake fluorescent light of ego which usually hangs over my brain's goings on, making me feel like i am not so small, not so insignificant, but central, mandalaing the the youme that burns burns burns onto the canvas of the abyss, creating life itself.... or i jus have a silly overactive imagination that ive never matured. idk. again, i seem to be ok with the idunno. indeed, i may even worship at the alter of idunno that doesnt even exist... "mental *******." that is what ive been charged with as doing by a shaman i consulted with at my mom's wedding. well, she didnt say it directly, but you know, hinted at it with that less-than-royal We - i had been talking about the difference between thought and language, and jus where in the hell thoughts come from anyway - a god? purely biological random shimmering byproducts of frontal lobes? some unifying infinite force? that spicy curry you ate? .. and she interrupted me ".. --- im gonna stop you right there" she intoned ".. im getting something coming in right now from the Christ Mind, its telling me something.." dramatic pause. "... sometimes we tend to jus get stuck doing mental *******, instead of jus being appreciative of what we have, here and now, in the present - that is why it is called "the present" right??" i dunno, maybe she was right. but i hate that cliche.. the present is totally overrated imho... i hate my ego sometimes. or at least i hate not knowing if it is ego or not.. i hate feeling that feeling like somebody is trying to control me through indirect ways, because i dont know if they are actually trying to control me or if i am just inaccurately perceiving it. i think a lot of times we unconsciously try to control people, not even aware of it. i am sure i do this as well. we all have angles right? .. but anyway, speaking of self *** metaphors for describing the thinking process, i am tired of short skirt blonde bombshell anchors that have been under more knives that hannibal lecter's vics tell me about how scary isis is and how they are gonna take muh white and male murica from me, jerking off my leftover overactive monkey fear gland in my amygdala... its time to turn off the media and look outside. the sky is not falling and the birds are chirping. aright im done writing now. end. of. rant.