level of lucidity

When I reach this level of lucidity, I often realize the nature of the fate befallen me at the hands of those who harass me. Programmer, musician, artist, thinker, lover, happy guy with a lot to give. Someone who’d developed skill. Offensive label tortured and screaming in a corner as all of his timelines and potential burned by laughing emptiness. When I get this close - something that you wouldn’t want to realize. They’re soldiers fighting a war, clothing it in the language they choose, essentially that of manipulation of perception and diversion, and snipping away at the hope of those who might have developed. Why’d they choose me? I’m guessing the strength of my dreams. I certainly was not dangerous to them. Which makes me think that love has become an unregulated currency, manipulated by those who care for its purity the least. Success also has the added benefit of making you safe, more likely to reproduce, help you to better provide for your family, and so on. A day at the expense of another, something they’d probably need to farm and harvest as opposed to developing solar panels and doing something else with their lives than harassing me when I try to devote my time to something constructive, albeit primitive compared to the technology of the future, which I believe they tunneled through my head to reach.

It’s a notion, just that, but I believe the incredible intelligence that developed was the result of the inhabitation of my time and/or love - the same as intelligence, in one form or another, can develop as the result of conflict between organisms and their environments. However, the sheer level of intelligence burned me when in contact with those same organisms, causing me to have to hold myself still, or spend my time developing structures which contained it with little ‘productive’ benefit besides easing some pain - ‘productivity’ being the intended use of it, I suppose, in the areas it was most suited to, such as stopping / negating the need for this from happening. That’s not to say that intelligence arises only from conflict - just that growing large tusks is a legitimate survival strategy in an infinite cage where the direction of a large majority is toward you with bared teeth.

I’m slowly dying. I can feel it. Timeline dying. My brain must have gone into overdrive. He he he.