I Dont Think I Want To Change
For some reason, my greatest fear has always been losing my mind. But now, as I write before you, it seems that is no longer so. Tantalizing, it is, the idea of letting the tethers of our agreed upon reality fray. So that the cemented truths of our world may become again pliant, and give us back the chances we have stepped over for the sake of our divine progress. I would not say that I often dream, I would argue much less so than the average man. This leaves the chambers of my mind a wonder to me. What might i find? Perhaps myself? Or even pieces of you that have been left behind. When i do dream, it is of things society would find, damning, obscenities that if spoken aloud in a room of peers would be cause for exile. You contemplate now in this moment what you may see if you were merely an observer to my debauchery. Does this action in its spirit make you much less different than me? Daydreaming of my nocturnal degeneracy. Would you speak aloud sitting where you are now what just crossed your mind? Ah but you are not the subject of this exercise, and for that you may be relieved. Perhaps my waking mind could be the sharp edge, causing this cord to fray. Each day a jolt against the vibrating frail string that upon dances my consciousness. How much of my waking life is actually spent alert? How much of my days have I sacrificed to routine and the promise of progress? I no longer wish to dwell in this liminal space between should and shant. Do’s because they told you to, don'ts because they are forbidden. I have done things, some would see as reprehensible. I have been victim to things that have fried my brain and changed my perspective of the world so greatly that I often cannot relate to others' tribulations. While my sins are not quite murder, and trials much less than incarceration or physical punishment, I live in a mental cell crafted by my own psyche. This cell is furnished by my own ideals, walls painted a rich burgundy, so that even under the brightest light, they are at most a bloody purple. For the longest time the only ornaments were those of my disdain. Only in the last few years have I begun to fill this space with pleasures and positive ideologies. My only hope is eventually I may fill the space with so much of my choosing that it will simply shadow out the articles of my dread. Oh but yet I have not finished doing terrible things. More will come, these pieces of pain, to adorn the shelves and stores of my mind. Oh how do the terrors sing aloud from behind the little distractions and pleasantries. A droning, strident wail, like a body slumped against the keys of a tabernacle organ, far off in the distance. Possible to ignore or drown out in the moment, but ever present should I find myself needing a moment of silence. I adorn my space with little bells, gentle in their sound, so that every little movement in my space causes them to ring. Soft reminders that there is more than the droning, music among the melancholy. I can rejoice, after all, my time here is a wick in wax. Either to be frayed down by the burning of time or blown out entirely. Regardless, without a doubt, all of this that I call mine, articles, memories, motivations, will be sand in the sea, to be sifted by the churning of eternity. I find peace in this. To know that even my greatest successes will be shells on the shores of some distant horizon, to be passed over by others in search of their own golden treasures. So whats at stake? Should I fail to meet these divine expectations of my purpose? What is lost if I simply cut the cord and fall into the pit of privy and pleasure? The greatest realization in my life was upon accomplishing my dreams and finding that none of it mattered. These manufactured goals, nursed by an existence that would only see me contribute to a running hound. A desperate gallop so that a select few may briefly see beyond the horizon. Run them down The dogs and hounds The full moon is coming You wont want to be around The Hound The Hound The Hound The Hound The Hound The Hound The Hound The Hound