Spell check cannot make you make sense.

Swiftly contorting kneecaps and intracellular cross labeled messages congeal lightly upon the rapids of every one of my blank states of mind.  It is left without a singular cellular backdrop to fall onto and no personality I can refer to,  it is nothing more than a state of humdrum melancholy that leaves me with a question of perspicacity as to why I continued to continue, and keep staying busy.

One more round of blocked junctions in my mind in order to come closer to the sweet bliss of rest.  Life is work since the moment we start dividing things into sections and building onto ourselves to make a great block tower of domination to show to our teachers that we can continue playing the game without question.  My father before me and his father before he shows no mercy or capacity of knowing what in fact he could actually be in he continued to be after he was not he just like I have slowly learned to not be that which is me. Lies are creativity as are lies leaps of faith,  we make a lie to see what it can accomplish just like we take a turn to meet a dead end or a highway,  personally I would rather stop at the dead end to park and dance flowing webbed knowing internal completion of thought unraveling into each others interconnected globe of personality whilst all partying to the end of nobodies means in a parking lot of self prescribed endless fiasco's of color and meaning binding of ideas and the mating of entirely different conscious beings it was a traveling music circus and museum of antipodal self inebriating bodies that felt the feeling of rhythm so powerful and melody so meaningful that they became whatever it was that the circumventer and out of means proportion giver gave to sought with lyrical whimsy so divine,

we just had to say yes.

Did you know that we were once energy and that we could not help but to resist one another until x could become y as much as positive could run around negative in an inevitable endless circle around a tree trying to understand the concept of the other side. seeing is knowing and hearing is believing as is feeling is being and smelling detecting as is tasting is meaning,  we could so easily lose taste and still feel satisfaction in fullness whilst knowing what we can imbibe from what we smell and the process of elimination is key in becoming perfect it takes only the killing of several thousands of the weak to help feed the strong and some say nature does the same thing but we are fine examples of where nature went wrong.  Evolution like reality is a concept within itself that cannot exist without existing and seems to be the general outcome of throwing in our dice in the first place to gamble for that incessant need of an allegorical comparative to the smart philosophical naysayer kings that ultimately judge the right actions for the right means but only then may he too be poor to discover that the philosopher king is a king of the peoples and thus a king of himself just another cog in the machine of ants working on the tunnels for their pheromone producing queen. 

Who had to say that life was but a dream when I in fact see that the dream was in fact life but it was the abrupt awakening of death that tightened the seam.

This is not my body anymore

6:30 am. haven't slept in days and I'm not even on drugs.  I don't feel like I know who I am anymore,  I am slowly watching myself lose control.  Who knows what's going to happen when I can get a grip on myself again.  I keep feeling like there is some sort of change I can make in my routine and life that will get me going in the right direction.  A new haircut, quiting my job, moving out.  I keep pulling these illusions over my head.  Now I don't want to eat, I don't want to sleep, I don't want to shower, or talk to very many people for that matter. I am in a bizarre state where I can't go without constantly playing music or painting.  It's my only sustenance in a cell with bars constructed from my needs.  It is my desire for stimulation and entertainment that will kill me one day.  Desire for a worthwhile purpose. but I am too much of a rough critic. 

Childish Optimism

I hope we don't already know everything about the world and I hope we never do.  The more conclusions we make about our existence the more we build a box around ourselves.