Outside there are noises of all kind.And there is a light that is pure white. A plethora of sensations flooding through the eyes.
The body remains a living organic machine - sensing all the time.
Women, men, and children - they are all insane.
The homeless across the street, die slowly on the boundaries of our genuinely remote assembly - expelled by time and rejected by space. Homeless indeed.
Minds appear walking rapidly towards some destiny.
If you really ask them - its absolute ambiguity indeed. Certain insanity. Precise instructions - definitely awry.
Programmed obedience - clearly simplified.
Amongst all this, a question about identity lingers painfully in the puzzles of the mind.
The dancing chemicals comply by orchestrating a new theme. The neurons fire to a new tune. A new drama begins to unfold. Its time for the next scene.
Wake up. Brush your teeth. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Come back home. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Read. Sleep. Dream.
It seems the whole routine is laid out. All you have to do is just believe.
Believe and deceive.
Perhaps that's why the enlightened have always called it an illusion. "Its just make believe."
Its obvious. How could it not be?
But wait. There is more. There is more you have to hear. And there is more I have to tell. Don't run away. Its just the beginning. You will never miss the end.
How do I know?
I can tell...
No really. Wait for ever.
Its an eternal state - this life.
Death is but a punctuation mark. There are sequels to follow. Alternate story lines to write.
The readers are plenty - their gaping jaws hungry for more. More knowing.
The writers keep on writing. Keep on feeding into the machine. The machine keeps on going. Rushing rapidly towards some destiny.
Its absolute ambiguity indeed
Knowledge is power - the kind that can get to your head. It penetrates your mind while it enlightens the blind.
Obscure visions are as commonplace as the lucid imaginations of a soulful schizophrenic.
The split is not between you and the world. Its really between I and Me.
You - on the other hand - are no one.
Just a figment of my imagination. Just a construct of my mind.
We are playing with toys. Don't you see?
The rest will keep on flowing, like the traffic lines through the window. Its quite a sight.
Nature, nurturing our lives.
The body remains a living organic machine - sensing all the time.
Women, men, and children - they are all insane.
The homeless across the street, die slowly on the boundaries of our genuinely remote assembly - expelled by time and rejected by space. Homeless indeed.
Minds appear walking rapidly towards some destiny.
If you really ask them - its absolute ambiguity indeed. Certain insanity. Precise instructions - definitely awry.
Programmed obedience - clearly simplified.
Amongst all this, a question about identity lingers painfully in the puzzles of the mind.
The dancing chemicals comply by orchestrating a new theme. The neurons fire to a new tune. A new drama begins to unfold. Its time for the next scene.
Wake up. Brush your teeth. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Come back home. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Read. Sleep. Dream.
It seems the whole routine is laid out. All you have to do is just believe.
Believe and deceive.
Perhaps that's why the enlightened have always called it an illusion. "Its just make believe."
Its obvious. How could it not be?
But wait. There is more. There is more you have to hear. And there is more I have to tell. Don't run away. Its just the beginning. You will never miss the end.
How do I know?
I can tell...
No really. Wait for ever.
Its an eternal state - this life.
Death is but a punctuation mark. There are sequels to follow. Alternate story lines to write.
The readers are plenty - their gaping jaws hungry for more. More knowing.
The writers keep on writing. Keep on feeding into the machine. The machine keeps on going. Rushing rapidly towards some destiny.
Its absolute ambiguity indeed
Knowledge is power - the kind that can get to your head. It penetrates your mind while it enlightens the blind.
Obscure visions are as commonplace as the lucid imaginations of a soulful schizophrenic.
The split is not between you and the world. Its really between I and Me.
You - on the other hand - are no one.
Just a figment of my imagination. Just a construct of my mind.
We are playing with toys. Don't you see?
The rest will keep on flowing, like the traffic lines through the window. Its quite a sight.
Nature, nurturing our lives.
