Dance of Nothing, Connective Tissue
Often times I am afraid, there isn’t much to life other than gross estimates and a few successful awakening moments. Moments that I am afraid are actually memories, if you believe in any of that. I don’t. I just enjoying smoking tobacco and gambling my mental health for few enhancing states. Who art thou knocking on thy cellar door?
There is little of difference between a beggar praying for relief and me shit posting on instagram. It’s only thinking that I’m benefiting society, affirming an identify that I loosely connect, where you begin to understand how purposeless it is to spend time worrying. I should really just fill my lungs with the near light in my bedroom or writing a letter to my consort; yet, here I am grieving to you to realize how wrongly stupid I am and how bright you are! Horse talk!
Shallow deprivation, that’ll be my reward — and at what cost?!
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A little bit of sleep sacrificed in exchange I become a God, yet you judge me because I don’t simulate the same reality, of a shared consciousness. I can’t help but smile knowing that I orchestrate a particular consellation revolving around ascetic of choice e.g Haitian Houdou or make believe witchcraft.
Whilst I am home alone safely cozy pacing my apartment yet you worry in spite to think I am in some sort of danger. Who’s really the one in danger! Woe to those who worry!
You didn’t pray for when I was alone as a juvenile and suicidal — yet here I dance in jubilance and you attempt to steal my thunder — how dangerous are you! I worry for you! To those who feel to be in a reality of sobriety I pray for.
Psychosis ranks as an detrimental affect or anatomical effect of drop in IQ points, I once heard; given that I’ve been in more than a few dozen I mustn’t be too intelligent! Yet now, we feel we can be the judge. A mirage of Judgement, who’ll be more accustomed to judgement: the attendee or the performer?
