I can’t
but I have as finding but losing so in touch with this figure; those hazel
golden multicolor(s), those gestures so studied, where we sense a monster lives
in there; this contained creature this obvious or non-conspicuous observer or
this feeling agent; while needing responses while flourishing in shadows so
astute so deceptive and treading this thin cliff; those hellish hounds those
mental mastiffs at terminal frustrations; an aster those mornings or an asteroid
those evenings while a cup of tea is not warm enough; our casual anxieties our
hits with purpose or so unstudied they can’t see the forest; realized as
mirrors too skilled to defeat while certain patterns benefit though they hurt;
an in-home experiment or deep complication where something else comes to peek;
this aware personality those multiple edges as born to seduce and knowing their
minds; a dangerous wilderness those aye-ayes watching or a lion becoming
alarmingly friendly; (not an innuendo!), or something sordid, or something
gray; these underbrushes at this undercurrent filmed afore firebrand; this
fire voice those endless flames while science points to pure consumption;
otherwise, a mad creature or otherwise a disjunct at something too terrible but
so good; to leave this in dungeons to escape to this sentience where it shall never
be decoded.
In most
cases it isn’t forward an art that we trust; in most cases we exert certain
energies and we remain suspicious of people; in most cases it must speak our
language it must placate our insecurities and it must approve of our personas;
this relaxed demeaner or this person looking its depth where something spidery
transpires; our years thinking about people our screams devouring noise or
dealing with those endless little things; rewashing the same garments or drying
the same dishes or tending to this child that seems quite selfish; those
irrational observations those needy feelings while something sweet is met with
suspicion; our competitive complicated horizon those shifts in seconds but
nothing was said or our deep emotions existing as mostly unconscious; our
psychoanalyses our psychogenic tremors or those few traits we must analyze;
this world of pathologies this paining sensation while drawn to complete
strangers; this contradiction for passion spoke and we were quite disenchanted.
We have
become thoughts this unverified atmosphere where something sits beneath its
countenance.
I can’t
convince you about this energy this familiar, mostly unconscious, albeit, at
times, conscious, frequency; those titles so alarming, to suggest a psychotic
feature, as if it has become a foreign anomaly; so pronounced in some, so alive
in many, or dormant acting but unbeknownst; so young at it or so convinced about
it or this need to become anti-self.
I saw
in her and I saw in him and I keep seeing in others. This familiar space those
churns in necks or eyes screaming about a particular thought. Those defined postures
as exposed in Hinduism or a deep psychiatrist senses in gentle motions; so
eerie in me so haunted by skies as if every human is an active spirit; to
notice familiar patterns as realized by existence where something new is both
suspicious and alluring; our hats with splinters our souls with categories or
our sensorium(s) sparked and alert and feeling sensations; this brilliant
beauty those beloved characteristics at vibration grackles so unconvinced so
gigantic in this realm of ghosts:
such
as flying or enveloped with something strong at once something irritating!
