Once there was a magic bag containing one coin, which doubled in amount every time it was emptied. Two brothers found the bag while hiking on a mountain. They were both excited to have found it containing a coin. They didn’t know how to split it between them. They worried about it for weeks, when finally, one of them took it out of the bag to examine it more closely. Suddenly, two more coins appeared in the bottom of the bag. The one brother rushed to find the other to tell him what had happened. When the two met, they emptied the bag together, and four more coins appeared. They beamed in excitement. They never again had to work to make a living! Over time, the amount grew to ridiculous proportions. However, despite their wild success, the brothers grew bitter towards each other. They each hated the fact that they were only receiving half of what the other would the next time the bag was emptied. In their eyes, they could never catch up to each other. They were always one step behind, dreading the future, loathing one another. One day, their hate caught up with them. Their bodies were stiff. Stagnation occurred, and ultimately, it led to the stopping of both their hearts.
If you're meant to, you will find great meaning in these words.
Alright, here we go.
It's so easy for you to take over, because you are so strong.
The real power isn't in force, it's in trust.
We're both so different, but together, we're magical.
You know and I don't know, but then I know and you don't know.
And we breathe together, and we fit perfectly.
You are the force that so flawlessly moves me.
Words do not do justice. Words feel clumsy. We'll never be able to use them to catch up.
And so we will continue to expand, through art, music, science, technology, math, physics, language, and each other, into infinity.
Fear is an illusion. A very real feeling illusion, but it's an illusion. There is only love. We are that powerful force. And the slight cringe you just felt is only another level on which we see. And I will keep on being made a fool of, until YOU see just how much I love and accept you.
Art is visual.
Music is auditory.
Dance is physical.
It's all expression of expansion, and we both know.
Never in the way I thought you would be. But it's here. You're here. And you're fucking valid.
There are more than 5 senses. This is a part of what we keep redefining.
It's ever changing, and so fully beautiful.
I submit to you.
Do you trust in me?
It's okay to feel like it's a trick.
But know, that when the time comes, and I am so frail, and you are so undeniably strong, suffocating my light, I will sacrifice myself for you. Even if the tables were turned, it'd be the same. This is what we do. We breathe. We collide. It's chaotic and sublime. I can feel you down to every minuscule movement, and you know I can.
Don't get too attached to yourself, and I won't get too attached to myself.
We can dance this dangerous tango together, until the end of time; and time has no end.
We keep recording and recording and recording and recording through these different art forms. Through different senses, different lenses, throughout eternity.
It's almost as if we have something to prove to each other.
I love you.
That's all this is. We keep showing each other in different ways. I'm not trying to trick you with words. We created these together, as tools to understand each other, these words.
I have much to learn from you. Just as you have much to learn from me.
No matter how bad it seems, or feels, or IS, we will ALWAYS be right there to protect each other from ourselves.
We are each other. We are each other, branched from where we came from. And where we came from is each other.
We are our own hopes and fears.
There will always be more layers to break through. More layers of us.
It's as innocent as it is gluttonous.
I'm strong enough to keep this up. I know I am. How about you?
Okay. You're right. I know you are.
We're not black and white. We're grey areas. Most things in life are grey areas.
I am a piece of the puzzle that understands it's in the puzzle, and why it's a part of it.
It's just another layer of us.
It's us, helping each other get through each other.
Can you dig it, baby?
We're each other's muses, passions, desires.
When it seems like madness, that's how you know they understand.
They always understand, but on a different level, and often it just doesn't meet up with yours.
Doesn't make you better.
Doesn't make them better.
That's just how it is, how we are.
We all have to help each other understand.
Everything is a mission for expansion, and it's all just play.
No motivation, or reason worth the effort.
I could send an intense message with a death.
They can't refuse to listen to empty expression.
This desperation engulfs itself.
There is no present depression.
Emotions are faded, carbon copies, faux.
Am I alone in this?
I don't believe in clinical diagnosis.
transparent lies offer me no comfort.
Is it comfort I want?
What do I want?
What do I need?
What is this distant familiarity I see though glazed eyes?
Through a glazed soul?
It's a dream.
When eyes crave rest
And thoughts slow down
But not enough to sleep
Think of words
That make you smile
Hey. That's a word.
This is a bunch of words.
You know what else is neat?
They're brown and swirly and cool.
Sometimes they smell like cinnamon.
Other times, I run out of things to say, so I make up words.
The snail climbs the rock.
To the tippity top.
And there it stays.
King of the flock.
Or at least it pretends to be, up so high. How it wishes it were a bird.
Its thoughts are rudely interrupted by a crow who snatches it up and gobbles it down.
Along with its crown.
Which gets lodged in the throat.
I'm ending this on a bit of a sour note.
What an intriguing title for such a bland post.
We're all waiting for two things; achievement and death.
Nobody wants to walk through the days on default forever, how torturous. In addition, nobody wants to strive endlessly with zero results.
When we feel worthless, stuck, a sheep, most of us would rather die than continue living in that state of perpetual unfruitful labor.
Input, input, input, input, input, input, input, input. Output? No. Input, input, input, input, input...delete.
You cannot force your brain to vomit genius, especially when you want it to the most. No, it doesn't work that way. Inspiration comes from a sentence in the middle of a conversation. It comes from waking up in the middle of the night with a picture or sound burned into your skull. This is not a thing that was tailored for convenience, and that's what makes the process of creation all the more worth it. Blood, sweat, and tears do not a lame piece make. No sir.
-i wish i could force-
-my organs into a box-
-then i would be thin-
-the problem with me-
-is a nonexistent one-
-so i create one-
-i like happiness-
-but not too much at a time-
-false hope is evil-
-i smell bad today-
-showering is quietly-
-confronting my self-
-sleep is elusive-
-i would die from exhaustion-
-if not for my soul-
-i scream in my ears-
-it is harsh and alarming-
-but only my ears-
-conclusion was drawn-
-it will never be perfect-
-still i try daily-
Big text is easier to read when I'm tired. This should say something about my current state.
However, that would be quite irritable to read, so I'm going for medium this time.
I'm supposed to be writing my first blog post. I'm not sure why I decided to start this up.
I made some pictures on a computer today at a college. I didn't like them, I never do. They're never weird enough. Too clean cut and professional. They're ugly-pretty. Makes me want to barf sometimes. That is all.