Cosmic Fibers...
My inadvertent quest towards cognitive suicide seems to be failing. I don't know whether to celebrate or cry. Pushing this boulder across the river may not seem like a good idea when I'm midway across. I'm already gasping for air and I'm not yet submerged. If I were smart I would've gotten a snorkel and oxygen tank, but instead I'll drown from stubbornness and spite.
My only hope is that those fine little cosmic fibers attached to the back of my neck keep me above the water line. Problem is that I've been feeling the tug less and less frequently as time goes by. I don't think that they'd be able to keep me afloat.
It could be a psychosomatic separation. I'm trying to hard to see these fibers but my focus keeps fading to the background. The blurred images convince me that everything is disconnected.
I keep telling myself that by just believing that they're there would prevent me from distinguishing them. Instead self-scrutiny points me towards doubt and doubt towards the inescapable black hole of analyzing my own imperfections so that I can attempt to filter my mind. With that task the inward spiral never intersects itself.
Giving up is impossible. Control appears to be imprinted upon my chromosomes. My double helix is governed by some paradoxical love between the void and the all.
Sometimes I can feel the fluidity washing my suspicion from that ever tightening knot binding me from behind my eyes. The assurance of unity seems to lighten me as my mind emulates the all. That imperceptible pattern of observation broadens its range without expanding its reach and my mind diffuses throughout the whole and at last I see from the surface.
But I can't maintain that radius and I collapse once again into my single point. Distance once again become vast and everything readorns itself with the extrinsic mask of individuality.
I still can't reconcile why it is that demand that I distinguish myself and yet I am the most at peace when I feel all as one. The only things that holds me together and away from the abyss of madness are those celestial fibers. One would think that would be evidence enough to believe.
My only hope is that those fine little cosmic fibers attached to the back of my neck keep me above the water line. Problem is that I've been feeling the tug less and less frequently as time goes by. I don't think that they'd be able to keep me afloat.
It could be a psychosomatic separation. I'm trying to hard to see these fibers but my focus keeps fading to the background. The blurred images convince me that everything is disconnected.
I keep telling myself that by just believing that they're there would prevent me from distinguishing them. Instead self-scrutiny points me towards doubt and doubt towards the inescapable black hole of analyzing my own imperfections so that I can attempt to filter my mind. With that task the inward spiral never intersects itself.
Giving up is impossible. Control appears to be imprinted upon my chromosomes. My double helix is governed by some paradoxical love between the void and the all.
Sometimes I can feel the fluidity washing my suspicion from that ever tightening knot binding me from behind my eyes. The assurance of unity seems to lighten me as my mind emulates the all. That imperceptible pattern of observation broadens its range without expanding its reach and my mind diffuses throughout the whole and at last I see from the surface.
But I can't maintain that radius and I collapse once again into my single point. Distance once again become vast and everything readorns itself with the extrinsic mask of individuality.
I still can't reconcile why it is that demand that I distinguish myself and yet I am the most at peace when I feel all as one. The only things that holds me together and away from the abyss of madness are those celestial fibers. One would think that would be evidence enough to believe.
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