
Holy streaming explosive thought.
Blood pressure is low but the blood is boiling hot.
What if everyone that is miserable is secretly happy?
What if we chose ourselves?
Our cat
Our house
Our voice
Our mother's face....
What if we handpicked our own woes before we got here--
Can I use the Scientific Method to test this theory?
Why not?
Life is a science. There's a science to life.
To loving it or loving to lose at it.
Because loving and loathing are more or less the same.
At what point does misery become a comedic routine?
What does it mean to mean anything at all?
I mean to
I aim to
I intend to
amuse the self via positive and negative life experiences.
I mean to learn. Not to learn the meaning of anything.
Because everything means something and I suppose that is what matters ultimately.
YET,
I mean to learn the art of translating every moment into
nothing
Moments do not have meaning. They are meaning.
I am worried. You might be too. We shouldn't be.
What is the me who casts dark shaded dreams of faces and mysterious connections upon my sleep?
What is the me who puts pieces of life into context within moments of the day---
The me who does not use words
or opinion as an anchor in a sea of voice?
What is this alive that keeps me so far from my skin
while simultaneously pushing me towards the alive in everybody else?
How can we not be our own skin and darting eyes?
Your (my) God
Your (my) wet hair
Your (my) hopelessness
Your (my) tower of wisdom
Your (my) memories extending
Your (my) hot blood pumping right now
Your (my) response to making eye contact in the mirror
Revision #2What if we chose our lives,
Before we arrived?
Even the details:
Our fading scars as secrets
Our mothers' sunken skin
Or the way the meter of our breath
Warms the insides of our lips?