MelodyWill you sing me a song of-lollipops and gumdropsIf I can write a mel-oh-deeWill you watch the stars and-lay with me in moonliteUnderneath my favorite treeYou know it's just a fantasyI know it won't be given to meNo it won't be given to meMy pen thinks of you-while my mind's on cloudsMy thought will rain on youMy pen thinks of you-but I'm not hereMy thought's decaying for youMy thought's decaying for youMy thought's decaying for you
Amphetamine BuddhaThinking doesn't always require thought; that's why I enjoy it so much.Nothing that your mind can think up will nature not allow.Nobody knows anything other than the facts in the facts they've invented.Adaptation to what's given to you is the best survival skill to learn. Why do we not know how to do this yet?Every piece of information in everyone's mind is different, even if they lead to the same solution. Conflict is rarely a negative thing.The circumstances of all life are different. What we've learned from the circumstances is processed in different biases. You can learn something from anything.You can talk yourself out of a habit. You can force yourself out of routine. But when routine becomes too severe, a concrete 'reality' sets in and that's what you're in right now. It can only be broken if you see it for what it truely is: false.We can only see in three dimensions, that's why we can't see time for what it is. Time is a necklace with infinite pearls strung to it, and ea
OmDo you wonder, have you listenedto the silence of your skinDo you wonder, have you noticedthe protein-cage you're inBeneath your surface lay a presenceone immortal thoughtThe purity you were born withyou probably forgotWhat we see and what we feelare not what we live forFlesh-full pleasures and heart-filled momentsjust a bunch of loreMy body is a medium toallow my Self to expressGiving people a cause for worryabout their bodys' healthYour body is more fragile than your lifeBut you won't let it showYour knowledge is compacted down insideGetting smaller as your body growsWhat you own and who you've metwon't matter when you're goneSo mu suggestion is thatyou abide by this songThere is no future, there was no pastjust eternal 'now'Nothing that your mind can think upwill nature not allow
OakIt's four in the morningAnd I'm gone on a walkWhen I'm alone in the forestThe trees love to talk"Why do you get to walk and love?All I can do is stretch high above.It may sound like fun, but it's really quite poor.Can you even say what a tree like me is for?"After the Oak's disappointmentI'm knocked off my feetSo I'll say something comfortingSilent and sweet"I know it's hard to feel appreciatedBut without you, I couldn't have been createdWithout your breath, we humans would chokeSo I'd rather be you, tall, beautifulOak"
White... + PaternosterWhite Powder Black Band Green Band Black and GreenIf every optical nerve and retina were focused on me at the same time, all the light reflecting off me would be absorbed and I would be invisible.PaternosterThe heart that was given to me is pounding in standby mode.The legs that were given to me are quivering and stretching from exhaustion.The skin given to me is smooth and hard like a large section of sheet metal blanketing my organs.The senses given to me are stimulated by their higher power's approval.The brain that was given to me has been stretch and experimented on by Time.The brain I've given myself is perfect in every aspect other than what circumstance allows.
YinMy mind can't comprehend what I would see if I were blind. If I went blind, I know I could not see, but I have never experienced a loss of sight before. I've slept, blackened out, had migraine-orbs; but never been blind. Even my thoughts involve sight. I associate being blind with seeing nothing. and nothingness with black. But even the complete absense of light is vision. I think.My mother told me when I was younger that being blind is like trying to see out of your arm. My response was "But you can't see out of your arm!" It seems obvious now that being blind means you can't see out of anything.Try seeing out of your arm. Can you do it? It's difference from being in a dark room. It's true absense, not just nothingness.Think about that next time you feel alone.
Disclaimer for DroolingWhen one has found themself buried under an unknown amount of debris after an avalanche, one is supposed to find the wit to drool.Drooling under the snow may sound childish, but it may save your life one day; especially if you are an active skiier or outdoorsman. I guess it's supposed to help you find which way is down. Gravity doesn't apply to a person's body when buried in the snow, but it sure applies to saliva.Which way is down, anyway? Why isn't the floor the limit rather than the sky? Why don't we care about the underground rivers? Cartographers have never bothered exploring the world underneath us. I guess it's not important since we can't see it; seeing is believing... seeing is concern.What if you are perfectly facing up, and your drool drips into your nostrils and freezes? It would expand, burst your sinuses and leave you in horrible pain for the rest of your journey until you can find someone to attempt re-constructive surgery on your inner-face.I bet people don't worry
CinnamonIt's hot in this classroom, my body feels warm. I'm dripping cool bleach-water like a towel slung over a clothesline. My sweat smells like a human's should. Not pleasant, but not unpleasant. Why does human smell how it does. What gives scent and who determines whether it's pleasureable or not?I would be a strange creature if my perspiration smelled like cinnamon. I would probably be praised by my peers, or maybe they would put me in a wax-blender and make a candle out of me.I wouldn't like myself because I don't like the smell of cinnamon. I would rather smell like grapes or snowmobile exhaust or chlorine.Maybe I do smell like a substance - maybe very strongly too - that I've grown used to since birth. I wonder if it offends the cats who live at my house. Their smell doesn't offend me, I enjoy them.If my scent has blinded me from itself, maybe my sight and touch and sound have too. I could look like a pterodactyl and have just gotten used to the fact that I have an eleven-foot wing
Bleeding to Life + SynapseBleeding to LifeMy presence feels like a lonely battle between two shades of gray who have been abandoned by their colorful armies and don't feel like fighting anymore so they've decided to throw out a light-gray-and-dark-gray checkered blanket on the magnificently absent plain and have a picnic of stale fruit and dry hardtack.When their armies returned, they both were slaughtered by their own armies and lay complacently bleeding to death, draining color together on their dull blanket.SynapseThe synapses of my brain are like billions of animations of the Sahara Desert.The brain is a mysterious being.