To the Existing

There posts are from an experiment I did in 2015 that I am moving over to this blog.

Listen to me as you read this:

Do you ever need to believe there’s more to life than what we see?

Do you ever feel like your eyes hold more than they’ve ever soaked in?

Are you afraid to feel that?

Afraid to feel more than the 12 years of life we’re allowed to question?

Why do we even feel this way? Why do we need to matter? Told we have the answer the moment we exist and each question against it fires your veins. So deeply do we fear change.

Questions as old as time.

The word  time. Did we care before we thought up the word exist? Did it just struggle into mattering as we pretended that it does?

So why did the question enter us?

Why does it live within humans as though ….

as though…

frenktelfel ent un a fey rooftashen a slick men tall refteken schlam

ester a moot wrecklane

Why do those sounds and letters feel deeper within me than English…as though other languages and lifetimes live within this mind? A vibration of soul veins ricochets the feeling of life.

Why do we vividly dream as children and astral project into new places then lose it as we age? We turn to animals.

We used to be allowed to feel.

Now feeling is a shame and hitting is a praise.

Love is a game or limited to this one being. We limit our feelings and call crying a weakness. Crying means you actually fucking felt. Cry your tears over me and I’ll lick them into your being. Wet me.

If I cry into your eyes will you shed them?

We don’t even know what we feel like naturally…in general we drink coffee, maybe get high, then drink. Three drugs in a day we don’t even claim.

Detox is in juice not in our minds. A cleansing of the skin reaching within.

We laugh at third world countries as though we are better, but they live without money and…I don’t know…if they feel they matter. How I wish to sink into their cells and feel their thoughts.

Not with their language but just to sit there. To feel them, to feel their connections as they stare at murder or look into the veins of a leaf. I want to have the juice of a kill flow from my mouth and close eyes to the point there is no language but just penetration.

Feelings become words and there is no meaning.

Yet meaning is shaped and exploded on to the point you stretch into your skin and feel that you exist.

When was the last time you felt like you existed?

P.S. If you are a first time viewer to this blog I request you begin at the beginning

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