Black Sunday

I am my own favorite subject, I can never seem to figure myself out.

Nature made me perfect, just not in my own mind.

We all would like to think that we have everyone else figured out.

The fact of the matter is that we will never know why we are in these bodies, until we die. We can only postulate, guess, take shots and throw rocks in the dark.

I am standing on the precipice of my life, I look down and see the swirling bodies of unknown amidst the black with wonder.

But I am cowering with fear at the same time.

can I change? Will I change? I scream for change, but I fear it at the same time.

Can I jump? Or do I have to be pushed? But if someone pushes me, who will push them?

Everything in life is a service to others, every person has a capacity for change.

Life is beautiful, death is beautiful, existence is beautiful, but so is fantasy.

Dreams are beautiful, but so are the dreamers.

people are beautiful.


I adore life so much it makes me sick to my stomach, I love new perspective so much I will poison myself to get there. Without death there is no change, no diversity. Without change and without diversity, there is no meaning.

Death is simply our way of giving someone else a turn, learn to share.

"silly monkeys, give them thumbs they will forge a club and beat a brother down."
-Tool

It has been so long since I verbalized my feelings, maybe I am a hopeless romantic. We say that if you fully believe something to be true, it is true. But at the same time we impose our will upon others, tell them what we think is true. The only progress to be gained is to trust in others, the only way to trust in others is to let go.

we have such a grasp on life that we are strangling it. what is knowledge but a trust that what everyone else has found happens to be correct?

Trust people

push them and

trust them to push you

The only way to know whats at the bottom of the casm is to jump in,