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Gathering dust and cobwebs, despite steadily planting one foot in front of the other. Weighed down by wasting away. Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, How does your garden grow? Slowly now with withered stems, refusing to truly know. Dreadfully weeping, sinking deeply, denying what longs to show.  I am frequently watching myself, from outside myself, peering through entwined fingers. I catch me, held back in my own latticework, ever unsure. I’m entirely aware of the full picture. I have an outstretching sense of every detail. However, it cannot be clear. However, it will not be clear. Far too humbled in some sense to see it for how it came to be… exactly. I guesstimate at placement. I pry ideas through the open spaces, inquisition, pensive pondering to float in the near-silence of my own breath. Clearly, crystal clearly, I see translucent figures pass by when I otherwise afix my gaze. I question their insides. I read them, in my realm, as three step instruction manuals. I ask nothing of them. They are but stares and scrunched expressions of displeasure. They are but assumptions and desires to pinpoint regardless of reality. I search them for myself. I feel my own steps steadily slow. I feel the pressing down of layers upon layers of “Why?”  Sanity becomes stagnant. Stillness. Subdued. I ponder passion, where my heart has gone and left me be. I wonder of purpose, and find myself here frequently. A creature of emotional moments, I cling. With curiosity, I question. But to no one and nothing other than myself. & I wonder what sense I make, if any at all.
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Gathering dust and cobwebs, despite steadily planting one foot in front of the other. Weighed down by wasting away.

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, How does your garden grow?

Slowly now with withered stems, refusing to truly know.

Dreadfully weeping, sinking deeply, denying what longs to show.

 I am frequently watching myself, from outside myself, peering through entwined fingers. I catch me, held back in my own latticework, ever unsure. I’m entirely aware of the full picture. I have an outstretching sense of every detail. However, it cannot be clear. However, it will not be clear.

Far too humbled in some sense to see it for how it came to be… exactly. I guesstimate at placement. I pry ideas through the open spaces, inquisition, pensive pondering to float in the near-silence of my own breath.

Clearly, crystal clearly, I see translucent figures pass by when I otherwise afix my gaze. I question their insides. I read them, in my realm, as three step instruction manuals. I ask nothing of them. They are but stares and scrunched expressions of displeasure. They are but assumptions and desires to pinpoint regardless of reality.

I search them for myself.

I feel my own steps steadily slow. I feel the pressing down of layers upon layers of “Why?” 

Sanity becomes stagnant. Stillness. Subdued.

I ponder passion, where my heart has gone and left me be. I wonder of purpose, and find myself here frequently.

A creature of emotional moments, I cling. With curiosity, I question. But to no one and nothing other than myself.

& I wonder what sense I make, if any at all.

I wonder of the inside-outs and the outside-ins. The inner realm of who I am is tightly coiled around a vast many things. It is rare that there is a strong pulling on my tethers from either which way that may better define the majority of me. It is rare for conflict not to nibble away at each end, or outward from the very core of my being. Furthermore, betwixt the tangles, the winding, and the intricate braids of contradictions tied together, I wonder how anyone is ever really one way or another. Yes, subjectivity, but how are we not all tangled and tied up within ourselves beyond repair? Are we? Are we, perhaps, too tightly coiled around our own insides that we cannot properly express them without being wrapped so closely in vagueness or the guise of artistic expression? Should the one-track be worried for, who so narrowly tread with tapered vision? Should there be concern for too broad of a spectrum, an inability to ever truly hone in on one path? My thoughts twist themselves between this and that, yet they only ever fall upon one true answer. “Balance” Perhaps, without balance, we should all worry. Not too much, however, as there is still balanced required within the constraints of our worry.
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I wonder of the inside-outs and the outside-ins. The inner realm of who I am is tightly coiled around a vast many things. It is rare that there is a strong pulling on my tethers from either which way that may better define the majority of me. It is rare for conflict not to nibble away at each end, or outward from the very core of my being.

Furthermore, betwixt the tangles, the winding, and the intricate braids of contradictions tied together, I wonder how anyone is ever really one way or another. Yes, subjectivity, but how are we not all tangled and tied up within ourselves beyond repair?

Are we?

Are we, perhaps, too tightly coiled around our own insides that we cannot properly express them without being wrapped so closely in vagueness or the guise of artistic expression?

Should the one-track be worried for, who so narrowly tread with tapered vision? Should there be concern for too broad of a spectrum, an inability to ever truly hone in on one path? My thoughts twist themselves between this and that, yet they only ever fall upon one true answer.

“Balance”

Perhaps, without balance, we should all worry. Not too much, however, as there is still balanced required within the constraints of our worry.

Wired All Wrong

I’m standing on my head and we aren’t seeing the same place in the same way. It’s all topsy-turvy for me. We’ll end up at the same spot with different motivations, with different guidelines.

I won’t want the same things and, in my upside-down perspective, I can accept and acknowledge that. In the right-side up realm of thinking, I’ll remain under-accepted and under-appreciated.

Where I exist, human interaction and strong relationships are first. Schooling, careers, and financial gain are quite important, yet still secondary. People are entitled to their goals and most of those are directly related to the individual. A person wants to go to a specific location or attain a specific job position. People do these things because that is what sustains them and their happiness (or so they think, although a lot can be correct). I want to know and cherish specific people and be in places that put me closer to them, interacting with them. I want these things as it will sustain my happiness.

The only real purpose of schooling or a career is so that I can sustain myself enough to keep up my interactions, enhance my interactions. Most people don’t live for that or don’t realize its importance. Most people can’t even accept another person having that as their primary. It causes me a lot of trouble.

So I stand, comfortably, on my head and watch the stampede of feet in my other-worldly space. I question the happiness gained from the lack of admittance or acceptance. I don’t see much of it in the first place, only people submitting to routines and holding to them for dear life.

Routine is necessary, but useless without the proper reasoning behind it for an individual. People need to strip down to the basics and live life before they jump in and lose themselves, hoping to dear god that they are living it. When many of them realize that they aren’t, they’ve lost so much of their time and so much of themselves.

If your life is long, then fantastic. Not all life is.

Then there are people like me who overflow with an intense desire to see other people recognizing what is truly in them and others. We get left by the wayside to drift away and apart. We lose out due to others misfortune.

And I feel alone
Theres no pain involved
Is there reality in this?

Another time and place
Another pessimist way
Is there reality in this?

The world is subjective. My world and your world may be intertwined, yet they have a different basis before and after they connect to shake hands briefly. People seem to forget the reality in this.

We all want to believe that there is one singular way to do things precisely and efficiently, yet there isn’t. There are specific ways to go about our subjective paths, and those paths are unique and many. There will always be sub-purposes and sub-divisions of the specifications.

If you can’t understand, I’ll decipher it down for you. Explanation is also subjective, but the English language is not. That is a whole other story for a whole other unit of time though.

Ignition ignited; Commence crazy.

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