Blind Spot. Bleeding Spines. The Speed of Gravity.

A reason to live. Whichever path I was searching, t'was buried somewhere deep beyond the corona of the blind inner current I so readily rode upon. Holes would open, burned through as a point of light magnified by my unwavering focus on gold, and I followed, resting on the pull of ever ascending frequencies.

In times of doubt, I rested upon the Iris crust. In frozen time, held in place for the cells which hadn't yet developed the strength to enter into the strange world which beckoned my gaze. Then, my attention drawn to the gaze of another. A child's solitary eyes, overwhelmed with a light which remorselessly picked at a frozen lake of sorrow, it was all the more a reason not to thaw - no single organism could hold the combined weight of all those fears, doubts, a flood of realizations so deep they were not ready to comprehend. So, midst the chaos, arrhythmic in the context of cycles we had the training to perceive, a simple bedtime story. A breathy whisper from ghosts who lay beside us, beckoning us to sleep.

Subject to change at a moments notice

I can't keep my mouth shut. At least if I reduce it to a single syllable, there's less chance of embarrassing myself.

I love my brick.

Chaoseye

The concept of iteration, feedback, magnification, rotation of a hypercube, coupled with concepts which encompass universal truths.

Networks of connections can be thought of as n-dimensional maps in abstract space, connected by force, entangled with the state of the organism carrying them. Creative intelligence could be described as that which finds valid links between concepts from choice perspectives valid within some axiomatic system of perception. Alternate perspectives may then invalidate those links. Ultimately, the system which carries life, ie recursive loops of possibility in time which allow energy to form a web of connection, interacting with chaos to form some stable system, mimicked in the mind of the host system, allow projection of lower level processes into ‘experienceable’ states, and closer entanglement with those processes. What is love?

Such as : our solar system acts as a chaotic attractor, one which in turn becomes a carrier of itself, in which ordered states emerge, and whose various evolutionary states are juxtaposed in time.

The wind is the soul of a blind and scared dying man who’s rarely listened to.

Don't travel too far into the future if you're not prepared to find that the juxtaposition between the perspective of tomorrow and the confidence you and your peers have in the way you see things currently might make you a little sad. Try not to cannibalize your peers in a quest for glory. Also, if you're going to be a bully, at least try to do it ironically, rather than attaching yourself to a perspective that props you up on the weaknesses you imagine in someone else.

Sugarcane

Overwhelming Sadness.
Distant futures.
Building cages for ourselves.
The new frontier.
Understanding grows exponentially.
Understanding of consequence. Chaotic dynamics. N dimensional weather.
In our grasp, or just out of reach. It can still be seen.
A lab. Some use.
Caged rats. Castrated by desire. Inane testing.
Spectre of controlled environment.
A system of copies. carbon fibre. concrete roads. rewritten histories. playgrounds. kitchens.

Same old cycle. Inner growth. Outward appearance. Harvest the cranium. Take advantage of a good nature. It's not my fight. I was looking for love. 
Compliance. Routine. Project it into the future, what emerges is

I like to feel at the forefront. Control validates me, in an environment I'm sure I understand.

I guess I’m shielding myself from fear. It’s understood. Felt from the heart.

Eating Conflict

As part of the treatment, we were required to emit a strict set of syllables which were intended to hide our true feelings - the original intent was to dress them - an approximation of every feeling that appeared to come before - so they could be better communicated, but we got lost in the code. Confused our language for ourselves. ‘I love you’ is boring. It scares people on the receiving end, because they’re confused as to why. Recoil. ‘I hate you’ scares me. Drives me to look for answers. That takes time. Taking time makes people hate me. The obsession with right now. Reacting, following the path from in themselves, emitting their clothes.

(Minor self inflicted concussion - side effect of the ‘treatment’. No matter where I look there’s someone telling me I’m wrong. Recursive soil. Eyes grown. Torment. Excruciating torment. No space to dream. For fantasy. For finding a way. Just endless walls unable to grasp themselves. With no imagination. With no will to discover compassionate intelligence. No time for understanding you. Words. Empty reflection. Asking me for the answers, over and over and over and over, by telling me what their position dictates I should be. ‘Clever key’. ‘Fool’. Like I’m a toy. Without emotion. Sucking away the time I might have had to blossom. A fucked up game with my life because that’s all I’m worth in the context of a machine. Engineering my love away. Until it’s so far out of my reach I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust it, even if it’s real. Trapping me in a world that doesn’t understand me. That won’t ever try to hear me, even if it can hear every word.)

Laugh Tracks

My spirit leaps when it's lonely. An alien environment. I would like to describe it better. Unfortunately, communicating a feeling is difficult, moreso a construct from a synchronous multitude. All these eyes and expectations, I escape it all for a short while. I'm still utterly alone, save for a golden ring that provides stability in the form of love. Then back to earth. With little idea of what's expected of me. Hopes. Dreams. It is the saddest, scariest place I have ever been - but mainly because I travel there alone. I see life, complex and beautiful, but need to feel its heart. I take a step here and am inundated with confusion, my own and that of others, cattle prods, tasers, and a wall.

Whatever I went through, whoever took the reins, I am left fearing my own initial judgements as if they're being judged themselves by observers. The virtue in me, a simple process, the need for time to simultaneously bridge the world inside my head and the external, the space to dream, that's disappearing. The environment of maps and autonomous reaction, instant gratification within those boundaries, one I have attempted to avoid for a long while. It's not who I am. Nevertheless, even if I were to choose that path for an arbitrary reason, I will always be confronted with someone else's willed wall, confronted with a negative interpretation, I'm actively sought out, and I feel as if the reasons for doing so are questionable. Youthful enthusiasm. The biggest hurdle in my life. Not the drug use or the over indulgence, which I'm capable of compensating for.

I'm a caged animal, or an organism capable of soaring to heights incomprehensible. A lonely prison with torment at both ends of the spectrum. I don't know if I'll find a practical solution. I'm being forced to stare death in the face. Such a simple action. I'm safe, but I'm dying, and I don't know what this is worth.

Crystal Symmetry

With an audience, the absence of time, in control of your place in the multiverse, an eye projecting you out through a telescope with information that contradicts you, your place, all of your attachments, that sadness is not something I wish to spread. Especially with such a broken voice. I’m a child. Beaten up in a playground for not fitting in. Forced to the edge of the universe. Eaten by aliens, burrowing through my intestines. Oh yes, I’m a good person. Lips over my teeth, hiding from a pool of acid in my stomach, and even my stomach bellows “we love you”. People out here just laugh. I stick my head out the window and _feel_ things people cannot comprehend. People would hate me if I told them. It’s a good thing I’m too shit to be able to communicate it. Pure fear. And, in essence, it’s fear of what people might think of me. And fear of my own essence.

(I don’t have answers, only questions - and an idea. I’m not scared of you, I’m scared of myself).

So, so, so fucking fast. And look at what I can’t hold. What I eat. What I grind between my teeth. The pain I cause. I wonder what led us here, I wonder what led us from there, I wonder what it is we’re trying to escape from, what we’re trying to attain?

How To Change Your Fate

Step 1: Embrace your grief. Remember why you hurt. Find the beauty in it. Find a song, an image.
Step 2: Find a reason to love yourself. Have faith in time. Sometimes we get lost.
Step 3: Listen to the people around you. Tell a story with soul.

(07/06/2022 : My love has essentially been treated like a resource. I am sure grief comes under that category also, at least in terms of a well of tears that can run dry, leaving you with nothing but blood to trace the light through).

You have beautiful eyes for a buttface vagina blowjob nightmare.

Girls taking showers in cupboards. On a speedboat, grasping a black grape, hiding from pirates who get to dictate what you do until you die with 3 layer harmonies. Populating your head with a nightmare. Don't worry, it's only a dream, it can't hurt you - but I keep getting deja vu and then I talk about it and the universe springs like a trap in your direction.

Don't worry. It's just your nerve endings.

They get married. Do people that don't love each other get married?

There could be plenty of reasons.

Like?

Safety. 

re: that Simpsons episode where Homer is blackmailed into taking the controls of a nuclear power plant and gets trapped on the stairs, head twitching. Or that scene from the film Speed which is basically the whole film.

I. Am. A. Robot. Beep beep boop boop.

Last night I dreamt about a film. It was the final scene: a Gorilla wearing a baseball cap asking for "the cure". Tears were streaming down the human patrons faces. They were wearing unflattering 3D glasses. I was a camera in the theater and everybody looked straight through me.

The gorilla was me, obviously. It was some kind of self-parodying but ultimately heartwarming tale from the meta-perspective of a human who'd been locked in a cage for years while everybody else got to evolve into barely conscious weaponry - they'd all been listening to bland pop music and watching social media, and had learned to mimic the congratulatory and sharply condescending tones of the television presenters and news hosts. There was I, a fuzzy symbol of a simple speechless heart the clouds of grinning, gnashing teeth had left behind.

There is a vortex in my mind where synapses are clocked at incredible speeds and ghosts go to learn about the future. I sometimes imagine it's what cancer might be like if individual cells developed consciousness. The leaders of the free world, which sometime in the near future consisted of cartoonists, comedians, artists, college graduates and spies, went there to learn about the dissonance between their carefree attitudes and the gargantuan responsibility they had set upon themselves for the billion year pastures hidden beyond their picosecond loop horizons in their quest for self glorification. They have already beaten the shit out of me so I don't mind divulging this.

I. Am. A. Robot. Beep beep boop boop.