Its silence. Thoughts are silent, words are silent, and time is silent. The space between notes and abysmal gaps between leaps of imagination are silent. The insights into other worlds - virtual reality experiences of a big discovery - are silent.
Silence is the simulation of senses. Yes, simulation.
Stimulation, is another effect but misunderstood as an action. When the bubble bursts and a different view rises above you listen carefully if you wish to hear other people’s stories. At such times you can feel life pass by. Once happiness is sought there is much to be said about how and why. Once sorrow is encountered there is much to be thought about how long and when. The latter is more quantitave. The former is enfolded in a quality. Among all the noises there always seems to be this one voice in the head that sounds the most convincing. If only the others would shut the fuck
Stimulation, is another effect but misunderstood as an action. When the bubble bursts and a different view rises above you listen carefully if you wish to hear other people’s stories. At such times you can feel life pass by. Once happiness is sought there is much to be said about how and why. Once sorrow is encountered there is much to be thought about how long and when. The latter is more quantitave. The former is enfolded in a quality. Among all the noises there always seems to be this one voice in the head that sounds the most convincing. If only the others would shut the fuck
u
p.
Breathe.
A mystery is not just worth solving, it is worth investigating. Otherwise the world would have inevitably ended into a stale climax. Even the far reaching obscure possibility of AI being an extended future invader of the human race is a bizarre turn of events.
Breathe.
A mystery is not just worth solving, it is worth investigating. Otherwise the world would have inevitably ended into a stale climax. Even the far reaching obscure possibility of AI being an extended future invader of the human race is a bizarre turn of events.
It is definitely not the end of the story though. The story never ends.
The story of life has its beginnings in the non-living. The zero fits between before and after - it.
Breaking up into finer strands, awareness lets out a shallow scream.
Delightful feelings whistle out in the air and a blanket of light spreads over the skin.
A shadow of gentle concern envelops the body.
I am no body, I am no body...
I am no body, I am no body...
Placed in front of the entire class was a boy once long ago. Standing alone and scared he stared into the faces of several little characters. There was no choice but to imagine their story under the influence of a partially understood drama.
The teacher stood crooked - a symbol of authority in motion.
The chalk on the board was an abstract scribble on the dark void of putative ignorance.
Suppose we left it here. What would you think?
"I would like to begin.... ",
Bet on the right stuff
Try every thing.
Come back to your innocence
At night when you sleep.
Suppose we left it here. What would you think?
"I would like to begin.... ",
Bet on the right stuff
Try every thing.
Come back to your innocence
At night when you sleep.
2 comments:
I want to buy this poem from you for $2,000. When you get this message please call 660-238-1755
You're poems are getting a lot better. Write one about about a dog licking his nuts! something different or funny or something... branch out of your little world.
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