Ask me whatever, I guess.
Connection, it’s fun guys. Amuse-bouche, about fungi. Warping all notions through huge distortions of what it means to truly be close and, Dancy dancing circles round past performance; he’s having an old friend for dinner, Mr. Norton.
Revolutionary innovations changing not the way, but around what, the world spins. So now we experience simulated societal interaction, publicly plead for acceptable levels of attention. Second guess even the most passive course of action. It’s intense man, gives me lots of tension. Meaningless mannerisms only pointing to disconnection.
This changes everything, this changes nothing.
This, is a tool. That it seems, no one’s really bothered tapping into. Everyone’s dipped, a toe in the water, a shock of cold or hot. Cut the bullshit and just scream what you really want. The wild west is dying. Now we’re cornered in this desert where only freedom is drying. My unspoken, entirely public words are more censored than what comes from my mouth. Is it colloquial or just incorrect to say things were looking up, but going south? How can you connect if you’re just so guarded? Memories of selves turned incog martyrs.
1. Can I expect to just never speak again?
I’m so worried by the words that my warbling voice lets out of my mouth. Everything comes easier with silence. It’s so much harder to offend anyone, and I can still get by just fine, better even than I can with the communicative fumbling that I so often encounter when I open my mouth. I like to observe, so much so that I need not share my observations with anyone else.
I love the sound of my own voice, but will that sound fade in time? A case of use it or lose it? Or will my inner thoughts stay constant, will I never forget (like riding a bike)? Have they dropped pitch over time alongside my physical voice?
How do our conscious minds grow in sync with our bodies?
2. We’re burdened with having to constantly apply temporary solutions to the problems that permanently plague us. Universal tests of endurance that we’ve yet to determine how to avoid. And so we turn to infantile impulses like inebriation and tears when we have no idea where else to go. As far as we run, we cannot escape our own consciousness, our essence; it is something constant in presence, but oh so variable in content. Our moods swing erratically as the dial of a broken metronome set to prestissimo…So who can blame us when we break? The human heart just can’t handle 200 bpm.
3.”People are always saying how these tragic acts are ‘inhumane’. They may not be characteristic of an ideal human we all collectively wish to be, but they are indeed humane. They are in our nature. We as a species are capable of ruinous, terrible things. In fact, they’re not uncommon. Nightly news and other media outlets re-affirm this…well, nightly. They are awful and they should never happen again, and yet they do. We commit them, and that darkness is something our species has to realize and either change or accept. I’ve chosen the latter. I’m sick of trying to find decency in the worst of situations. Silver linings are lost in the dark, cumulonimbus clouds that swirl above us. We do not learn from our mistakes. We react to them, never quickly enough and often not strongly enough. So to hell with it all, with which I am intent on assisting the process of. “
Good night cap. Good night cap indeed.