lately, i've been thinking with such vigor that i thought i might explode. there are little chemical reactions traversing synapses- they look like blue and purple sparkles to me- and i think in strings. threads, even. they're skinny and tangle into one another until there is such a solid knot that i just curl into a ball and cry because i have to start over, because it can't be untangled-
united looks like untied;
love is reminiscent of evolve because it's evol backwards;
humans are insignificant in every way, but other humans want to be important and must make peers important to do so;
nobody wants to be useless, but everyone is.
people should not think. people are meant to be feelings, feelings and chaos so pronounced, the aftermath of a bomb test looks serene.
i'm sorry if you're looking for profound insight, you won't find it here. I am a twenty-almost-twenty one guy. with that fact alone, i am bound to be a disaster- i can only hope sometimes for it to be beautiful. i act before i think, i think before i act, i am not a bird, but birds and i have a long history and sometimes consider me kin.
it's almost always at night i think so much that my brain is like a manufacturing plant- little thoughts zooming up and down different factory lines, tubes and loud shouts to other workers,
"hurry up and send the next one!"
"we've got a jam in quadrant c!"
sometimes, i think so much that i shut down everything else. sometimes i just want someone to make it stop, and sometimes i say things that i think might provoke such an effect.
really all i do is hurt people.
i end up talking about things i shouldn't talk about, or i treat people like payphone therapists- drop the penny in the slot and you've got a hired listener, someone who is obligated to care; it's like magic, or a vent vending-machine. i lose the person in it, i forget that they've got thoughts and worries and little factories churning out thoughts that just-can't-stop and i don't know how to quiet myself down. i turn into a crying baby, a hysterical fox who's lost its den, i just wail until someone can tell me it's alright, distract me from the thoughts that pulse out steady as a techno beat, make me feel instead of think.
it never happens.
i like to pretend that i am a hazard to myself- i am right. however, i'm a danger to everyone else, as well. i never notice until it's spelled out before my eyes, either. i hold on so tightly that my fingers break, and i let go with nothing to use to keep in place. i just want to be loved- no, i don't. i just need to know that it is possible for me to be loved. sometimes i get so scared that, because i'm terrified to give away any of my self, that i'm reluctant to love or that i don't love myself, sometimes i get so scared that no one else can, either. and who wants to go through life never being loved?
i'm sorry.
i say sorry because i mean it. i say sorry a lot because i mess up a lot. i want to be forgiven, i hate when people are mad at me, the uncertainty eats me up inside and i'm anything but static, i'm moving like the moment i stop, i die.
i can be so emotionally simple and so mentally complex, i'm like a child in reverse. i will be happy, sad, or angry over anything you can imagine telling me. i feel so many things inside that general emotion that i oversimplify until i think it out. and when i start thinking, the little factory workers rev up their conveyor belts and begin shouting orders to "hurry up!" or that "there's a jam in quadrant c!"
i'm cyclic.
sometimes i think that life is just a string- threads, if you will. unlike my thoughts, i can't just start over- life is one huge work-in-progress that you will never see as complete, and the moment you do, you die.
i feel like for the past year, i've given glimpses of extremely specific bits of my self and my brain, my heart and my thoughts- but i know that when i read a book, i would rather watch how everything builds up to something you know, not piece things together to find that uniting force.
