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It felt like starvation; now only death can ease insatiable inquisitions.
Marveled by celestial decisions, And while the findings are marvelous, I still question existence.
My mind was traveling parsecs; I couldn't digest the doctrines—I was losing my religion.
Question it all.
I'm mad enough to go to war, but I can't save the world.
One must taste the dirt before all can be unearthed.
The further I ferret the rabbit hole, the more is known of which I don't.
I know there's nothing after this.
My environment, the catalyst, called for perspectives few could ever witness.
The story's just beginning.
The pieces coalesced for the nascent stages of my thesis.
Instead of hiding behind my intellect, I set sail on the Ship of Theseus.
David Cunha Jan 11
Early turqoise sky
Damp heart beats melancholy
Mind is in refuge
- David Cunha
january 11, 2024
11:21 p.m.
Francis Nov 2023
What goes in, always,
Comes out,
Through the ******* of life,
Which is **** itself.

Such a waste,
That we are born,
And die,
Fighting for things,
******* things,
That we can’t take with us,
When we die.

What a ******* waste it all is,
Yet somehow,
Everything and everyone is needed,
For the next phase of waste.
**** becomes fertilizer,
We become reborn,
Into whatever else is **** out next.
Philosophically marvelous— just kidding
Kitt Sep 2023
I turned my attention to the water, and I was suddenly struck by the immensity of everything.
“The world is so big,” I said aloud,
more to myself than to him.
He nodded, but I couldn’t shake
the feeling that he just didn’t get what I was saying.
I didn’t mean, “the world is big.”
I wasn’t talking about the vastness of the seas’ endless waters
or the sheer size of the globe we walked on.
I was talking about the infinite
nature of the world, how it was stuffed full
of corners and niches that I would never see.
I imagined all of the homes, filled with love, with shame, with something
in between.
A bee, circumnavigating the area around a wilting tulip.
The involuntary wringing of a grandmother’s hands during tense moments.
A boy practicing violin.
A wedding, a birth, another wedding, a death, a funeral, and the continuation
of life around the hole left by the dead
until the cycle continued so much that the hole was filled.
I imagined the ports where ships docked and ******* between voyages, the cobblestone streets of French towns and the mountainous landscapes of the past.
I pictured dogs, scratching on fences, and a girl
brushing her hair by an open window.
I saw the corners and pockets of life, shared with the world
or kept to oneself. The gaps behind stoves,
the crannies seen only by blind mice and frightened roaches,
the dark tunnels beneath the earth. I saw in a flash the water parks where children played,
the quiet moments of morning coffee reveled in by morning people
who rose before the sun.
I pictured the greasy back-alley of a fast food joint
and realized that, for better or for worse,
I would never see
even a fraction
of what the world had to offer.
xjf Aug 2023
It may be that
the purpose,
Is not written into
the program.
The lightest touch
Is all it takes
To stimulate
The thirsty mind
Desires like delusions
Bloom out of needs
To own and to possess
To have and to hold
What is the difference
Between marriage and
So many expectations
Inevitable like gravity
Forsaking the self
In exchange for
The we.
The body continues
Its fleshy desires
Long after
The mind is
When the desires of body
Overtake mind
What am I?
Is it me?
Is it, it?
Existential rumination, am I the player, the game, what am I?
JM Larsen Jan 2023
~Oh! Delicious Death of Self~

your un-Selfing of Life
fermented sweet,

eyes opening,
filling with
| V O I D |

the substance of the
Nameless White Light's

Unblinking in its
witnessing of
The All of its
for Jodi
David Cunha Feb 2023
Like rats, lab confined
Like fish, water confined
Like blood, vessel confined
Like children, perception confined

There are stars we'll never reach,
Spaces we'll never meet
Forms we'll never greet
The Universe expands faster than our growth

Faster than light, perhaps -- we're in a cosmic cage.
- David Cunha
july 15, 2022
10:42 a.m.
David Cunha Feb 2023
Time skips in between screen time emptiness
Mind's fuzzy with the traffic sounds
Eyes blinded by the flashing lights
Hands struggle to reach something pleasurable, at least,
As the heart beats excited for the minute-lasting serotonin blast

The hair grows an inch each week,
The numbness comes in days and leaves for a couple hours by bits,
The blood's rage meets the grinning face of guilt,
And the will to change is temporary.

What will it be when I'm 70?
What will change in me?
What will it be like when I'm not me?
And if I'm not me, who else should I be?
Why should I care for the fate of the world?
Why can't I be cozy for 20 years and die alone, slowly?
Why do I have to get up in the first place?
Why do I have to belong to the human race?
Racing indefinitely
Pretending to wear the shield of bravery for someone else's dream-****-like-fantasy,

What are all these brands and all these bands of crows?
Eating fleshless people with money for bones
Why is the circus always in town?
Why does the TV lie?
Why does the Internet lie?
Why do the people who run our money lie?
Why do the people who run us lie?
Why is it all so fake and sly?
What is all this bellyful hunger?

What is it that I can't grasp?
Is our nature really all that nefast?
If this is peak humanity, why should it last?
- David Cunha
february 8, 2023
4:00 p.m.
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