Incoherence
CONTENT WARNING: Shift of focus, Emotional Struggles, Fractured Truth, Turbulent World, Meaning and Memories
I have stopped listening to myself and writing for myself and found a more engaging thing to do to edit. What and how else are we going to be learning to read and write in profound ways. We are after all the creations and the recreations of our creators. We are the sought after phrases and pain and pleasure that comes screaming our of the warring worlds.
I am just breathless and sometimes I just want to drown. And drown beneath myself, beneath the weight of family and the reality that seem to be pushing down on me. How else can I put a stopper to my heart but still live. My beats are just my realities and my realities are not tied to the ultimate realities we call home.
My home, my reality is a lot of speaking non sense till I make sense, a little sense one little angry ejaculation of truth. And that truth is cut to its miniscule pieces when the eyes meet the shaking hands that do not know how to take on the world that keeps me Topsy Turvy on the roof on the floor, as if words have no meaning and as if all the meaning is lost in the flow. Faster more deep more intense more striking, a paradox a plague.
Yet nothing seems to make sense anymore, nothing, because memories are fleeting and without memories what can we hold on to? Perhaps a fulfilled life is a market for all the lost things all the lost embraces, all the lost love.
I bet the rich can buy them all.
