I filled a friends Facebook wall with crazy writings because they never use it. They were dumb, didn't even read it, and asked me to remove it so I did. Here it is, I thought it was pretty funny. However, I respect their decision.
Imagine a world where you sensed things, but not as they are now. Instead of smelling smells, you would see them with your eyes, and instead of seeing things with your eyes, you would hear them. Tase the sound of something, and feel the smell of it. In that world I would have died long ago, because I want to taste all the music.
Spring, sprang, sproing, sprung, spout, shout out loud the noises that resound of the walls of this new season. There must be a reason for this cacophony of sound. Sssssssssssound. Resounding compounding into new formulas, new equations that equal a net zero. Silence.
The repetative sound of rain hiting on eaves, and pavement. Lifeblood of the planet falling from the sky, and oozing into the ground. Like vampires we drink deeply of it, and are refreshed. This blood quenches the body, but what of the soul. Where does the nourishment for our inner being come from. Does it to fall from the sky making a pita pata pita pata sound, as it wells into pools on the ground? Or does it fall upword climbing higher into places unknown. Coalescing in a sea of collective concience. A vast ocean of humanity, nourishing some other plain of existence. Those that dwell on that plain depend on us. For as we are refreshed, so to are they.
You faithful few, you truthseekers running against the tide of normalcy. Counter culture revolution you cry in your heart. Bring us to a place where we can understand who we are, how we can live outside the big machine. Moaning slightly, and letting off a hiss society lurches forward. Grinding up those for which it has no use. At least they can grease the gears.
We are all made of stardust, some more than others. Cosmic elements combine in you, and in me. Let's stare at the galaxies we see in eachother. The firmament found in your face, deep space in your eyes. Gas giants, neutron stars, supernovas, all featured on earth in their different guises. So vastly different, so intimately the same. So wish on a star, and grant a wish to be a star.
Encapsulated in the womb of night. He plots, and plans. Making charts and maps to guide the light on it's way. Birthed upon the day just to succumb to sleep, he dreams of dreaming. Waking, sleeping, night, and day mingle like a White Russian. 1 part Kahlúa, 1 part cream, 1 part vodka served in an old fashioned glass. Blurring the lines, inebriated by the drifting chemicals in his brain. Stretched to infinity he becomes one with the universe, and a singularity all at the same time.
Ok time to fill Sean's wall with inane ramblings of a mad man. I've always wanted to destroy something beautiful.
I think third shift is driving me insane. Well more so, you know. Hope your job is going well. I've heard from Oliver that call centers can be a dark place. In a not so good way, not like death metal, more like life insurance.
Hey Sean, hope you got to Bellingview safely. I am reminded of a Michael W. Smith song right now (Go West Young Man). What, no I'm not crying I uh, it's just foggy in here thats all. =D