Primalsense

Our minds race with our brains, playing our wires like axons firing thoughts into words that let us play.
My mental mind flexed and I felt hormones ooze out, they took my penis and lifted its girth, stretching it to where I could continue myself with it, urging me to use it as it hardened. I felt my blood seep into it and my thoughts leaked out of my head and came one with it, no longer allowing the blood to be anywhere else.
What creature am I?
What is this skin surrounding every outer surface of my being?
This smooth surface I can only touch with a smooth surface?
The fingers rub all over themselves, exploring their own layers with this awareness I’ve never known, flexing and defining how to adapt to their space, how to use it.
There’s a projection desire. I wish to find others, to touch them too, to show them these fingers and stroke theirs. I also want to lick everything, know everything, but it’s as though I already do.
As though I’ve been a part of everything, and am formed as a projection of the minscule moments of it.
I want to bite, to taste, to know…everything.
I’ll put it all inside me and see what explodes.

(as final form (human))

If thoughts are holders of my concrete meanings, can they sift into the genes and hold themselves there? Can I leave thoughts for the next creation?
I want to make sure others don’t stick though, how do I break them? Can I kill them?
If enough of them can’t be carried on can I kill them all, kill myself?
I’ll just let the energy shatter and return to the earth for the next creature to try with it again.

Who am I?
Why am I here?
Do these cells exist as a proposal?
Am I the world proposing itself as a creature that walks it as it?
Is there a final formation?
Are airplanes just larger butterfly wings?
Am I merely remembering what it was like to learn to fly?
To go from a catterpillar stretching out, realizing I was limited to the ground as I moved through the dirt, realizing that to reach more places I’d have to become taller, taller would be more space, what if Instead I could fly? To reach more palces faster.
But then the fragility of a wing broken, squished,I’ll make billions of me.Like the petals of a rose spreading out and lifted into the air, spreading myself, touching the wind until its touch lifted me.
Then something will eat me, bring the flight inside, and I’ll be shit out, return to the soil, and  reconvene with earth until it decides to use me again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s