It's not love. This is nothing like it. It's just a trick of time and you know it so, darling. This banal life make you feel your heart have eye and you joke around and tell people you want it to go blind. One day you wake up and you are thinking what to say and find a way to chase away the curse you yourself put upon your world. Your mind and words might not go together and as you lay in bed at night, things started to look a little transcedental: he left and the gap there was so big that you didn't have enough people to fill it. You tell yourself the long nights will end in the right way, daylight will show itself upon your window bashing you with hopes. That one face that appears uninvited in your thoughts may have lost his way somewhere and found a home in you so those pain he can't bear was stashed between your ribs. Maybe that made the man felt good. After that, he got to his next plan. He put your head inside his hands amd he hold them very hard with a vicious smile on his face. And

You've been to this place many times before but everytime you're here, the feeling is new. This is the kind of feelings you don't hope to end. Because this is when and where you remember that time your sun holding your hand. His beautiful home in you collapsed and he fell on his knee. Your skin leave thoughts hanging on your epidermis. Those bright veins in you, that thing got dark and you start wishing you talked to the girl with tears that lives next to your door whom always goes out on cold days. God, her dreams is gone but she never stop, she keeps going, keeps on hoping the sky will get better. Oh, her lips knew she would

In the past, mum told you to try hard and understand that broken feeling that attacked your nightmares. She said she had done it for years and that healing deep cuts takes time. Her fear was that it's gonna last forever because she felt like it was. Even her eyes told her that possibility. Here's the moment that never fails to make her happy. Everything blurred to black, the air is ****** out of her lungs as she thinks she's gonna sleep somewhere far tonight. Far

You are trying to decide what you wanted the best. It is hard to stay when no one cares and the sweet blood you're covered in was blue. Blue and cold. You're in a flashback and this is when you hate your mum because she is trying to put up your hair. In a few hours, when you walk down the aisle, her hair will be whiter that it is now. Believe her when she asked for help because she is running out of breath but you. You didn't listen. You were covering your ears. Now what

Turn back and find the faces that are lost in the room. This is what you've turned out to be

*An episode of spring dream.

what descartes could
         have said to copernicus:

look at me! look 'ere!
  'ere!
  i'm standing on my 'ed!

the "problem" begins when...
well...
there is no logical
cascade...
   and there never was one,
to begin with...

cogito is a predicate
of sum:
thought is a predicate
of being...

alternatively...
cogito
is a presupposition
of the "supposition"
of sum...

     to think, "prior"
is to expect
         being:
             as a inhibited
priority of
sentencing
a sequence of events...

big boy talk...
                small girl play...
rigid,
   rigid vocab.,
there's always a fail-safe
mechanism of a today,
through to tomorrow,
it almost makes you wonder...

                    how did,
these people,
in their prime,
in the 1960s...
                 quicken
their transcedental
approach...
   keep a job...
****... we're figured out...
some of us will have
to compete with robotics...

i'm out of touch with reality?
i always was...
or at least that's
what "journalists"
say... leveraging
                 the worth of
bureaucrats...

     key words,
a rigid vocab. structure...
  my own...
one small difference...
the whole thing falls apart...
no key words?
well, a thesaurus dynamo...
some words
can be displaced,
some words can be replaced...

but this is a use of language,
akin to painting...
it requires
an observer,
what it doesn't require
is someone to implement
the content,
given the context of:
who would be
unabashed scuttling freely
into a comfort of a hole,
into a shadow,

              the minute they start
faking...
akin to wilfrid laurier...
"safe spaces"
and:                        drama kits...

being is predicated on
thinking,

to think is to be held
responsible for being...

somehow...
   to be is to not be held
responsible for thinking...
maddening,
to attempt an argument
in reverse...
   just like the counter
argument against
the french existentialists...

who would say:
existance predicates
essence...
  
contrary: essence
predicates existence...

there really isn't an agreed-upon
point of furthering
the current zeitgeist /
mode of conduct...
   rigid structures
eat away,
and what is left is...
   well-oiled cogs
of the already pre-estsablished
machinery...

i succumbed to watching
videos about twitter...
i never used twitter...

            but the current climate?
it's descartes *** copernicus...
   that's the whole debate...
  heliocentric implies: cogito...
yes?

       geocentric implies: sum...

              there is no finite assertion
of any end to this debate...
    there wasn't any to begin,
or end with...
  
               only now...
do i see how descartes is so intrinsic
in metaphor,
when being matched to copernicus...

i.e.

   does thinking orientate / originate itself
"around" being,
or does being,
orientate / originate "around" thinking?

how much of this speculation
can become
    cogito, qua: sum?
the ergo can disappear
   completely...
this is not a cascade reference point
of a 1 + 1 = 2...

     i am proposing a new venture...
cogito, qua: sum?
    well, considering that
the veil of per se
is already intact...
given that:
   any question of being is
answered with,
   a "question", of, "being"...
         sum: qua sum...

it's what translates thought
into being...
   and that doesn't translate
thought into being, ergo...
cogito, qua: sum?
   i.e. i think, as being: being;
just because i think,
doesn't prove to me that
i exist,
      it only proves
the dasein of existence per se...
and that...
is, as depersonified as
you can ever express yourself
with...

given this spaghetti of language...
i can only imagine
the stagnant tongue,
akin to experiencing p.t.s.d.,
the whole barrage of repeated
circumstances...
or... brining a *******
giraffe on the first date,
for drinks,
   and whatever is accepted
as the habitual leisure
of: the frees peoples of the freed
societies...
   never a ******* Iraqi...
just first date concerns...

         point being...
   it's going to be much harder
to realise the Copernican inversion
of Descartes..
      much, much harder...
but it's already here,
what with the number of people...
what with Louis XIV being
dead and all...
   i'm actually adamant,
in saying... this will not be met
with a general concensus,
there will not be some grand
       public re-orientating epiphany.

i have no need to be direct, or clarifying; to be exacting, to be as loud and understood as a dog barking...  alone i understand the fact to compensate, the fact that i've been to barking (well yeah, east london, hub of west ham supporters)... but that is, and always will be, beside the point.

what cure
am i seeking
for my ailment?
*death,
that's transcedental
dialectics...
     it's
sourcing the cure
for all sense
of being,
  being: per se -
i.e. existence;
as bonsai tigers know:
sleep a lot,
   think a little.