Thoughts on a Saturday Morning

Yes, I exist as the wind. Maybe that's a bad thing, but for the most part, comforting, and where I find home. We all seek something.

Nothing's there, am I correct? Are any of us correct at assuming our surroundings? Do you love me?

Am I mad?

Sometimes I look into the landscape and just feel as though it's not there, has never been there, that my eyes are actually looking at a wall and my mind painting my life onto the wall. I change. The me last night
nothing more
but a vague memory
inside of me today.

(This is my story:)

I woke up; my ceiling, white crystal dots, an ocean of them, the light from my closet refracting off of them and shining down on me. If I looked long enough, they moved and breathed with me. This was my room, my morning. It would fade from me in minutes along with the memories of my dreams. I will forget, and time shall be taken from me, leaving me ignorant of my life, and every life I simultaneously exist through.

The only reasons I get out of bed this morning is to check my phone and my IM to see if you've tried to contact me, and to get dressed for my brother and his new wife-to-be. You haven't, and they aren't here, but I'm still out of bed.

I remember pieces of it: There was the Sun Shoppe and there was House of Joe, but there was also another place. I went there and met up with four people from my past that I did not expect to see. They used to be Christian and would only listen to rap, but in my dreams, they were atheists and they listened to trip-hop. They were glad to see me, and I didn't know their names, despite knowing who they were. They didn't mind and never told me their names.

I remember climbing on stacks of goods, and I told Trevor that the only good thing about us evolving from primates is that we could climb. That's the only complement that they'll ever get.

When I was a kid, I could climb better than any other kid. Higher, faster. I dreamt of space, as every kid should. Of the void and the everything inside of it's emptiness.

Will today be any different? People and face smiling, beaming, relaxed, content. Content.

Do you ever make yourself sick? Or wonder where you stand? If everyone is walking forwards and backwards
I'm walking perpendicular, along a line. Changing without progressing or declining. It's not that I'm done living or content, but that I need to explore every spot of where I stand in the now.

I don't know why since I always end up forgetting, but I have a thirst for knowledge and the unknown.





We don't grow up, we only pretend. Maturity is just about as easily forged as lust, or honor.

I've nothing to worry about, it's life and life only.

(But I don't learn from my own teaching, and it's killing me.)