Hey you

This week was intense, flowing between. I don’t know if others write, often I feel so high and yet alone. It could be because of the music, the effervescent reminders, or the avoidance patterns. Does the computer write the music? It seems the privacy online has phased. It can drive me crazy that even my inner voice has been heard. So maybe the part is that you can’t stop writing, yet you remember, and the smoke, the meds, the casual waits, the things the world gives us to solve a problem it might have created. DNA as a double helix can be like a relationship, spiralling around together with only small links in random patterns, as we sequence it, causing those connections, like one between two partners, companions, or lovers even maybe. I like God to be a big bully, or broke, or even just a guy given a job by John to baptise the world, a consequence of a random thought or someone wanting to escape their own work. The mystery of life is there, is here, is in a book, many books, and writing is a gift I, like millions, see manifest. In even mistakes, there’s thought. Choices, timing, doors, going and swinging and bouncing around, things we fear but need as well. I wistfully think about things, like a creative muser, thinking of how really, if I were to not have had media, I likely would have been safer in my own mind. Yet I guess the importance is to value change, not be stubborn, as one coworker called me out on about my lack of retrospective responses. I can’t can’t can’t can’t take back the things I’ve done, because during the bought time, there was little growth, little fear, and some really opportune things. Maybe I challenged God, maybe I feared or respected, maybe I didn’t know who it was, because I live an enlightened life, higher above a cloud without a footing. And when I come down from sleep, but from my first mistakes each day, each doubt, each pattern, though indescribable likely, it becomes sown into a story.

I guess I’m just hoping still. Like my playlist being more positive, my apartment being more at peace and clean, or without the feedback loops in my life I seem to be unable to fight anymore.

We need something to believe in, to feel like we did as children, to enjoy play, imagination, and love. Some of the transition feels impossible and daunting. I know this first hand. Maybe because I wrap myself in a bubble, in a place of entitlements, or disrespect, maybe. Maybe.

I know the mystery I’ll likely never figure out. Yet my being can’t stop from trying. Just wishing. What on earth is all this time for? Numbers, letters, somehow we understand. And that one reminder. That never… *Sigh* it just never goes away because it gets caught up in the in betweens. Yet I guess we can let go.