I'm trying to make a difference in this world. I'm trying to keep philosophy alive. I'm trying to influence your mind all the while mine is traveling an a billion directions at once.
I believe a little insanity is a good thing.
I'm inspired by life and I'm inspired by brains and nature and love and happiness and obsessiveness and anything else that's in this universe and outside of it. I think too much. I write compulsively. I don't want society to stop reading. I don't want society to stop creating. I want to contribute to this planet's literature that is so often hidden under media, pop culture, and other things that won't really matter in fifty years.
These are my thoughts, and I can't control them. I can't control the words that flow out of my brain and through my body.
This is word vomit. And I'm not cleaning it up.
of you
I floated through space,
when space was cotton and wool and sheets whose ends tangled
inside each other and knotted around my intertwined
fingers.
I swam through streams,
when streams were limbs cascading against pebbles
which were the asymmetry of anatomy that flowed towards a larger
body.
We exploded in the mushroom cloud,
when the mushroom cloud was the white of our knuckles
and the red of your back and the disturbance of smooth
porcelain.
We eloped to a distant land,
when the distant land was brain activity and neuro-firings
transformed by the intoxication of White Zinfandel and
inhaled smoke.
And I,
we,
you
were right
here.
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eternitarian-- reblogged this from nikkiraffail
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