Soaked in Being

I think I'm happier when I sleep. Don't worry! This isn't some suicidal blog sneeze. It is worth some consideration however. Happier when I sleep. Obviously using the antithesis of sleep will help to unfold its secret. The more blaring question becomes, why am I so unhappy when I wake? Consciousness is a prison, of sense and law, all weighed down in being. Every awakening is a silent oppression in the grasp of reality. Every awakening is a yielding to the rules of the game. It is our strength to adapt to our surroundings, evolutionary magnanimous to have been given such evolutionary benefits. It is a teasing compliment which we take so readily. We have lost in our refusal to lose. It is a loss to refuse to play, written in the rules, but we cannot win. We are blinded by rewards of success or heaven, this is a lie. We trick ourselves into thinking we live for the journey, this is a lie. We live to be free, or we die to be free, but once again this is a mocking parting gift, as we accept that we must use the game to leave the game. We are prisoners still, conscientious objectors at best. So I'll sleep, I'll wait, for I can't am.

Leaves Upon My Floor

There are leaves upon my floor. I say 'my' floor, in the same spirit they are my leaves. Unwanted but mine. I wonder of all the ways i could dispose of these leaves, the bin, the window, might even carry them outside. Yet then they would never have been mine. I can't rid myself of 'my' leaves. When I move out, it will never have been my floor. When I breathe out the air would never have been my own. When I die. The leaves stay on my floor. My leaves own the gaze resting upon them.

Plucked From My Brain

To my immense embarrassment at times, the following passage was written, using the first words to come to mind, one Sunday morning at 3 am.


Rainbows and butterflies, waiting for food at the church singing carols. I waited all day on my bicicleta. I ride so fast, my legs burn, insane. Father Christmas is in Southampton. Imagination is the key. Coins fill my belly and give me sleep apnea. Compulsive shock therapy. Matt was my best friend, why is my insecurity paralysing me like Pikachu? I used a sharpener to circumcise an elephant. Torpedoes are sailing but infringe Exclusive Economic Zones. The Greeks are suiting up, I am a traitor, silly enough to get gangrene. Why is my mother so fat? Strawberries are beautiful. Coldplay is gay. Transceiver seduces wifi through my ipad. Daisy is a cow. Why not eat my penis? Oh how I laugh in embarrassment. Today/tonight is going to be good. Healthy apples. Sikh temples in Manchester. Oh my god I've done it again.