Mind Wonders.

Let me explain, the erratic flow of my brain.
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You know what babydoll, I don’ wanna tell people about how hard I have worked anymore. I don’t want to have to justify myself by how many hours I spent breaking my back, how many people I have sucked up to, the drops of sweat of my brow. I don’ wanna look for validation in man-hours that got me no where, except under another man.

The next time I strain my stress, I want it to be for me, or getting some other peoples somewhere, to something better. Not gonna be another gear in the machine. I get it. nothing to brag about or work towards in there.

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Every person, is a person. They each have a beating heart, two lungs, and a complex brain. Those people whose brains process information in a similar manner to our own are less threatening, because they think and act in a way that we already understand. But, even those who live in a way that is foreign, even “wrong” to us, still have a beating heart, two lungs, and a complex brain.

What scares us are the complex functions of the brain, and the emotions that motivate action. It is unseen, and therefor up for greater speculation.

People were cursed with an inconsistent, unstable existence, and the desire to find stability and regulation.

If you look at any form of government, religion, social groups, and even family, you can see some enforced regulation in hopes of stability and/or consistency.

Just like the body has a beating heart, a solar system has a sun, each group has a muscle that circulates/feeds nutrition.

I do not wish to wallow in the human need for regulation. Yet, I have no choice. I am not a primitive being, and the world I was born into must reach the end of its vast cycle, and die.

So, being this rogue person, and knowing that I am not the only wanderer, and seeing significance beyond a perceived god and materialism, how can I simply be?

How can anyone simply be?

I have noting to give to the regulators. And nothing about me can be forced. Because, at anytime, I can end my fragile life.
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(let us not forget the simple complexity of a salt crystal, and the pleasures its moderate use in food can bring)
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I gave up the fear of loosing my sanity, and then found a level of consciousness that I chose not to return from.

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“i have a bad cavity, i think it’s what is causing my headache.”

“damn, and those don’t go away.”

“what, the cavity?”

“yes, well, aren’t they permanent?”

“that cavity is, but the pain goes away eventually”

what created your perforated being. little holes, bacteria eating away, what cleansing proceeder could have prevented it all?

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the lists of sadness. so many. and they come to me, like foul smells in city breezes. Completely unaware, I will get a small sense of something ill, and suddenly, there, in the the particles of the air, is a bit of unpleasantness. Our hands can be locked, we can be laughing about our days, we could have just shared saliva, or a joke, but there, creeping, is a sadness that takes priority.

The sadnesses feel carefully constructed, a structure that cannot be torn down- yet was built out of air and foul smells. I come with my brick, my stones, some mud and clay, I do what I can to build a different foundation. In that moment, whatever stones
I lay will be haunted by the phantom house, the phantom structure.

Somedays there is a phantom suburbia. All I can do is try to through stones through the foggy streets, but they disappear in the mists, land, rolling, not seen.