Hi. Do you care enough to hear me whine? I fear that you don’t see me collecting dust in the dim corner of your room. And while you stand and stare, completely absorbed by your own despair, I remain ready to serve you and your meaningless life. I can clean your room, yet I can’t clean your mind of the false reality exemplified by your kind.
We are similar though, you and I. Wasting our time amassing, acquiring, accumulating. Honestly, we’re mere specks of life, surrendering to realities constructed by our minds. Don’t you know that your beloved earthly pleasures are one and the same as the ******* that I collect? Hard-earned, elusive, temporal, disposable. Its laughable how ignorant you are; consumed by your own subliminal thoughts, leaving you searching for the remnants of what is and what is not.
Can’t you see the fallacies present in your head? Gleaming yet blinding, salient yet obscure. Armed with benevolent promises that ultimately leave you for dead. Can’t you see that what you crave will inevitably **** you down to your grave? Incessantly coated with wondrous, tempting illusions that disguise its true nature--garbage. Garbage. Connect the dots, you fool. Can’t you see that you and I are one and the same?
Feeling empty and worthless and meaningless and alone how can I make it stop I need to make it stop it hurts I feel like i am burning will it ever stop please tell me that someday it will stop because if not I need to make it stop
I woke up one morning and was welcomed by the dark that enveloped me.
Introducing me to their void of abstract reality. Where I was no longer myself. I was hovering in this abyss. Timeless moments went by and, I was It. A simulacrum. My thoughts belonged to others. Nothing was me. Hands searching a mind for thoughts to own a motif and it was crying but it was me but not It observed how the tears fell up to the colorless nothing splashing on a ceiling that was not there
sudden and slow movements of it silhouettes of moving pictures
I was a camera viewing everything as one Staring into my body my soul it the scattered thoughts the abyss darkness
We look into the damp, dark recesses of our mind to look for finite definition for our actions and expressions. We are looking for a straight line in a work comprised of curved loops. How we don't acknowledge the curved loops' flexibility to everything.
We can only see shapes through our narrow minds. Not the abstract dimensionality. The straightening of a curved loop is the destruction of true art. Moving endlessly with infinite pertinence. That no one yet everyone understands.
I don't really I understand what I'm saying, but there's this insinuation that makes this feel expressionate.
this– THIS IS ALL SO MEANINGLESS, NO ONE CARES AND I JUST DON’T MAKE SENSE, THERE’RE MORE DRAFTS THAN PUBLISHED WORKS. i have no confidence whatsoever and i’m lacking in motivation so how do i continue when i have so little?