life, traveling 10,000 miles away from home only to find that home is where you want to be, and once returning being more alone than ever before, feeling the parasitic plastic walls paranioa move in, running from nothing, running to nowhere, clawing at the air that suffocates me. i have the strength to move mountains, but no power to use it, i took a walk today and found my soul looking back at me from a puddle, and it said hello, and i didn't answer. who am i really, and where was i before i was here, and why can't i remember. these are not questions, these are not answers, i took a ball of clay and molded something beautiful so that i could destroy it, over and over and over again. standing alone, drowing in a sea of people i outstreched my arms and screamed as if someone would hear, and i found no reply, not even in myself. i feel as if i am nothing but the lost souls of a million dead hipsters, junkies and rock stars all grappled onto me so that they may live again, and again try and fit themselves into the world all hoping that this time someone will truly hear them. feel alive for your religion, dream at night of electric cats and soulful vision, i live over endrian, the land inside my mind, and the castle has fallen, the gates reclaimed by the sky and the waters frozen by time. this is all. thought is free but you must pay the price of thinking, to put up a wall of insanity to keep myself sane, i never know what to do, just how to act, the times when everything in the world could be paid for with the eyes of a lover.
where are we progressing to, why did we start in the first place, do the smiling faces of the tribal shaman, smeared with dirt and life smile any differently than mine. how does it feel to run from the tiger. to fall from a cliff. to fly. once when i was little i looked up at the sky, and i've felt confined by gravity ever since. what do the metal forged faces of a legion of our own creations mean. will they bring us love. what happens when technology becomes so powerful as to define us all as simply as 1+1, when human life is thrown away for each defect, replaced like a plastic toy, and used up accordingly.
i want to love, i want to feel the sun on my back, beaming down over untouched wilderness while i desperatly hunt for sustinance. i want to understand the lion, and the ant, not rip them apart to see what they are made of. i want the freedom to be eaten.
i can feel my mind emptying as it fills with my thoughts, filing my teeth to sharp points to gnaw upon my indecision. can't make any sense of anything i understand, and the more i understand the smaller i become, and the more i wonder why.
i write when disturbed, but it doesn't make me feel better.
i live like i am dying, pleading with life that it be something else
i looked down from a tall building and saw myself swimming in a sea of ants, and delyrium, held together by strings of misunderstanding and surrealism, i can no longer sit and stare out the window, my view is blocked by the sound of 1,000 streams of consciousness left running, i can never feel again, my words echo in my head, and repaint the walls of my mind.
my life is overcome with the feeling that i am something special, something never seen before, i feel like i have to stop writing now. i think i have no memories, and those i do make me wonder of they're mine. livng in a space only 9 steps long and 12 steps wide, filled with wires and strange devices that i operate, making dissonant harmony. i feel my mind is fractured.
the day my sould removed itself from my body and i became a passive observer in the life i used to claim as mine, my name is adam, i am a dreamer, and these are my dreams. why must everthing i write be so grey, so black and white. i burnt my lip, but i can still feel. i can stare into a mirror for hours but i still don't know who i am. i am fire, a hellish witch doctor with no tribe, all the answers of the universe are contained within me, but nobody askes the questions. simple irony, i hide nothing. there are times when i think in verse, when my soul comes to the surface, the times when i hide, fearing that others have a soul too, and that they too encage the dragon that lies within me. i have one true freind, i know his face but not his name, i still hide from him and the comfort he offers. a tear falls. i've been high for so long that it feels strage to be sober, almost like being high. i could climb to the top of everest, but then i would climb down. the stars are not enough. i've felt god's presence, crushed the devil under my shoe and believe in neither of them, i deny the divine but acknowledge its power. god is a machine, created by a dying race at the edge of perfection, like the seeds produced by a wilting flower, grown out of shit.
i am a member of the transitional race, moving from man to machine, i hear others walking, and talking but i myself don't breath.
the patterns of a million different people all going different ways, moving together, blending into the bitstreams of life as the bitstreams fade away into the rain, the clouds, pushed by time, leaving some moments in our memories for an eternity, gusting others past us before we realize they're gone. a flood endlessly pushing us along while we try and leave behind our footsteps for others to follow. i walk down the grey paths of life, the paths that lead nowhere but endlessly far, in the stars i see, the sea i feel, a tree grows a flower.
the dawn, where memories live like shadows and the silence is broken only by the sound of thoughts growing. made of bits and peices of a fragmented reality, riding the crest of a beer-tinged acid-laced tidal wave of idealistic thoughts and emothions, who gives a fuck about tommorow, just keep hoping that the powers that be will give us one more day before smashing us against the rocks. mixmatched thoughts of youth. desperatly trying to get stoned.
raidoactive dreams, thoughts ladden with glass
thank you for reading.
where are we progressing to, why did we start in the first place, do the smiling faces of the tribal shaman, smeared with dirt and life smile any differently than mine. how does it feel to run from the tiger. to fall from a cliff. to fly. once when i was little i looked up at the sky, and i've felt confined by gravity ever since. what do the metal forged faces of a legion of our own creations mean. will they bring us love. what happens when technology becomes so powerful as to define us all as simply as 1+1, when human life is thrown away for each defect, replaced like a plastic toy, and used up accordingly.
i want to love, i want to feel the sun on my back, beaming down over untouched wilderness while i desperatly hunt for sustinance. i want to understand the lion, and the ant, not rip them apart to see what they are made of. i want the freedom to be eaten.
i can feel my mind emptying as it fills with my thoughts, filing my teeth to sharp points to gnaw upon my indecision. can't make any sense of anything i understand, and the more i understand the smaller i become, and the more i wonder why.
i write when disturbed, but it doesn't make me feel better.
i live like i am dying, pleading with life that it be something else
i looked down from a tall building and saw myself swimming in a sea of ants, and delyrium, held together by strings of misunderstanding and surrealism, i can no longer sit and stare out the window, my view is blocked by the sound of 1,000 streams of consciousness left running, i can never feel again, my words echo in my head, and repaint the walls of my mind.
my life is overcome with the feeling that i am something special, something never seen before, i feel like i have to stop writing now. i think i have no memories, and those i do make me wonder of they're mine. livng in a space only 9 steps long and 12 steps wide, filled with wires and strange devices that i operate, making dissonant harmony. i feel my mind is fractured.
the day my sould removed itself from my body and i became a passive observer in the life i used to claim as mine, my name is adam, i am a dreamer, and these are my dreams. why must everthing i write be so grey, so black and white. i burnt my lip, but i can still feel. i can stare into a mirror for hours but i still don't know who i am. i am fire, a hellish witch doctor with no tribe, all the answers of the universe are contained within me, but nobody askes the questions. simple irony, i hide nothing. there are times when i think in verse, when my soul comes to the surface, the times when i hide, fearing that others have a soul too, and that they too encage the dragon that lies within me. i have one true freind, i know his face but not his name, i still hide from him and the comfort he offers. a tear falls. i've been high for so long that it feels strage to be sober, almost like being high. i could climb to the top of everest, but then i would climb down. the stars are not enough. i've felt god's presence, crushed the devil under my shoe and believe in neither of them, i deny the divine but acknowledge its power. god is a machine, created by a dying race at the edge of perfection, like the seeds produced by a wilting flower, grown out of shit.
i am a member of the transitional race, moving from man to machine, i hear others walking, and talking but i myself don't breath.
the patterns of a million different people all going different ways, moving together, blending into the bitstreams of life as the bitstreams fade away into the rain, the clouds, pushed by time, leaving some moments in our memories for an eternity, gusting others past us before we realize they're gone. a flood endlessly pushing us along while we try and leave behind our footsteps for others to follow. i walk down the grey paths of life, the paths that lead nowhere but endlessly far, in the stars i see, the sea i feel, a tree grows a flower.
the dawn, where memories live like shadows and the silence is broken only by the sound of thoughts growing. made of bits and peices of a fragmented reality, riding the crest of a beer-tinged acid-laced tidal wave of idealistic thoughts and emothions, who gives a fuck about tommorow, just keep hoping that the powers that be will give us one more day before smashing us against the rocks. mixmatched thoughts of youth. desperatly trying to get stoned.
raidoactive dreams, thoughts ladden with glass
thank you for reading.
