though in writing i am embracing the impulsive, the unborn creative element of humanity, that is so sudden, so curiously manifested in multitudes of permutations within the firing of synapses in 6.6 billion brains around this world. how can i make something beautiful. when i let go i surprise myself. then it becomes trite as well. so when then is authentically human. i say, delve deep. though these days i have separated my soul from my body. i have done it. i dont know how. it was something taht was recanted, followed by destructive jestures, and holy prayers to God, a sudden sleep and upon waking you feel so utterly removed from everything. so i question what is it that makes me aware i am human, this is here and now. it is because normal sensory perceptions are no longer sufficient for me. i see it all as abstract in itself. ocular aural tactile information that is taken in is just that independent and together they are phases of sleep to me. and so when i look in to reality everything is just that, it seems so distant. i have lived up in my head for far too long. 5 years of self conversation, the stories i have created for myself. i am at a crux for living, push myself towards something prestigious or give into what i wish to do, nothing. i could live in the city, work by day, write at night--both music and literature. then waste away day in and out countless hours striving to become known for something and then as 10 years flys by as if it were a fortnight i will have completed nothing but affirming my own myopic fantasies are merely hinged on the quixotic though processes i harbor within myself to make myself acceptable to me. a good laugh indeed. or should i prod myself into the cattle car, in to the trailer with the other mindless fools who will sell themselves into the system to have a bite to eat of the spun and pressed green dyed cotton, the glorious fodder for worldly revolution. buy in. yes. undergo undue duress studying a topic of mild interest, a topic that took years of convincing myself i was to be destined to adore, yes a wise choice. that versus anonomity for eternity and happiness of a different color. so many things must fall in order first. just let me let go of my dreams if they are not to come real for they are merely clouds then and i care not for that kind of recreation. universe, God, you once conspired for me to become something and now i feel it has become a mutual disaffirmance, whisper once again, start forward motion, yes it is all for naught, spiders and lemmings, spiders and lemmings i say it over and over such a grim outlook for us all yet the fall is always fun. we all delight in self destruction, self preservation is too cumbersome a task and come now, all in all it only delays the inevitable. the aggregate amount of life lived is nearly the same i suppose, yet of a different color. one more cerebral the other practical. and the moderation between the two is the relative max i suppose we should aspire to. so it is a work in progress, but nonetheless allow some conspiring to occur universe, conspire for me. i badly am in need of adventure these days, or at least one open road to rush beneath my feet.