WARNING: The following may not make sense to people who are sober, or people who do some form of brain altering medication. But the following is written from a purely creative side of my brain where I don't require those adjustments.
Of course I would write something like this in a state of confusion when up is down and down is up and words don't compute in the proper metaphrases that my brain has comp-you-tated. I've always done as I will as I want, I will do, but never I should, or shouldn't. Because what the brain wants the brain feeds on. The lifeless corpse of words best fallen dead in the battle against thought and reason. Why would I have it any other way? I'm a brain who can't live under water unless there's a cliff to jump off. I pretend that the non-existance of a said historical algorithm can only collide with the electrons of the hyper-active self aware cells that run rampant amongst the thought buildings of yore. It's simple really, If I always did what I couldn't I'd have nothing to do but shouldn'ts. But I don't do what I should have done and will do and end up doing something complete doo doo, to be honest. So ifs and thens get in a battle of could and didn't, and it becomes a drawn out battle of words and numbers that mount up to a sizeable donation to insanity. I believe that the reincarnation of my lost hair follicles will come back to haunt me in dreams that will force me to remember where I had been and why I'm not there now. Licking stamps is an old tradition of suicidal torture that can only be undid if one was to play with marbles. If I had a dime for every penny that I had found, I would have had some cash to buy a better haircut. Unfortunately the hour glass is broken and seems to go on it's own accord, fast slow fast slow fast slow. I always yell for it to speed up to a slow stop so that I can get on teh right buss to crazy town. If I had only bought the right carborator I probably could have gotten my tricycle fixed so that I wouldn't be on the wrong train tracks trying to take off in a dual propeller plane. It's a ridiculously absurd scenario to wonder what the existence of my feeble attempts to correct wrongs would have led me in. Thinking leads to thoughts that shouldn't exist in the material realm. In a physical plane there are no pilots, just an off on switch for the auto pilot that has holes in it and was drunk once before. Drunk on stupidity and choices that Trebec said were wrong cause they were formed in the womb with questions. Figure it out he says, I just punch him in the face and say What is my fist in your mouth? Doubt washes me graciously as I sit up in my bathtub of mud and ex-foliate my ear drums. I like to hear the thoughts I think I thought I heard. I think it thinks that I thought I cared about the caring thoughts that thoroughly transpired during the thirty-frice force of the fifth dimension. It's a number in elbritronics. I've created a monster under my bed to fight the one in the closet. The try eating each other once the light has escaped my eye sight. I live in a world of thoughtless brain activity that continues to destroy my inner peaceful workings. My choices, my curses. Curses! Foiled in foil again by curse-ed thoughtless thoughts that have burned me alive at a steak on a barbeque. Yum! Good times await those that have finally found the piece they were looking for and didn't destroy the puzzle piece that they needed to complete their life. Oops, I did. Unfortunate, because I needed that piece to finish my life puzzle on time before the judge. Now I'm in a hole digging upwards to find sunlight to bless my face and clear my brain. Puzzle piece, oh puzzle piece, where fore art piece that was so quietly fanatical. You spoke silence until I was deaf. Next time yell your whispers so that my eyes can see them more clearly and this mornings issues aren't on the door step. Note to self: choices are made and consequences are lived with, but the clock keeps ticking up the seconds till better brightness.
No comments:
Post a Comment