these components

my collected self vs.
my whole self.
could i be getting closer to
my soul-self
under one astrological incarnation?

these furious memories:
i've been to earth.
i've died.
the human SELF is to story-search;
there is no wrong in spiritual discovery
but i tell my desires
of possession-abandonment
to suppress themselves
for the worldly-void of impulse.

i let the soul rest
and take on
personality.
i let myself feel heated--it is
more obscene to my mind
than kindly refrain.

it is too effortless for I
to believe in the Holy Neutral
so i let the fishes rage.
i let myself
unkind,
speaking of myself
as if i were proper subject matter.

i speak of it
because we are them same
and as US
we are every subject
that matters.

i do not want to detach
as human
from humanity.

spiritual gain is human loss.

i want to feel every emotion, i want
to orgasm. i want the dilemma and drama
of morning thru night.

it is most spiritual.

there is bitter love
and sweet fear.

there must be for these words exist.

my scattered self;
my silent self.
the confusion of incarnation
is what makes the most sense.
these changes and feeling the same,
these normalities and the slip to sanity
vs
the natural.

when i awaken i will smile in reflection.

Tumble this

The ideas you have of me
are false
You forget me, you beg
your rid of my foul

Those that think of me high:
the delirium untruth
Those who have spat at my soul:
this dream of conquer

This load.

The ideals I have of this world;
that when I don’t understand something
but still consider it creative and full
I am satisfied with earthculture.
When I hear the sound moving, truly,
or a speaking book, image, sensation...
There have been many sensations.
I feel comfortable with the IDEA of human.
I feel sane within the chaos of mental evolution:
I picture the gods (with rejected belief in such Titans
just, that
for the moment’s reality they are tangible).
I picture them in conversation,
in beginning and creation, and
making love.

This heave of insight.

I am loud, breathing
Or at least, like that in my mind. My thoughts
get more concrete. I am relieved but reluctant
to let myself fully escape from the abstract. I try desperately,
search for my True Mind
to static and devour:
let dizzy enlightenment stay.
I am nauseous, hesitating
the fag is getting closer to me,
but I want this smoke.

These waves.

It’s sounds like I’m psychedelic,
off of earth for this hour to look down and actually see beauty—
but be fooled for I am just
laying in bed.

a condensed soul-to-body conversation

what yesteryear's am i thinking of;
these places;
i think of flavor: and discover a hidden truth
to life as in
using flavor, i could let my mind consciously delve
into a sense further and deep, because taste itself
could take easily the universe of Time

no,
listen:

i discovered something fantastic
about being SENSED crazy
like i swear,
cock could never feel as good
as this Expansion of Mind and Existence
i pick
and pick
at a habit,
and surely,
it always does
find me.
fold into existence
you'll know it's happening
you know it's raw and experiencing
you know
your face just aged
a little you're face
has planted its fold.
okay,

but why are there such mysteries?
why am i always
so
cold
so provoked
by human nature:
i'm exactly like the world
i'm a soul when i'm not alive
i am
a destination;
apparently Somebody thought of me
and thought the Trip worthwhile. fuck.

my mind had tranced so deeply my body ached
and further ached, another sense growing deeper
and bloodyfuck deep
like, hah, now my mind has spilt
i must attend to somatic duty,
ease my tension
quit
thinking
for a while
for comfort
for reminder
of this flesh,
which
most times i think awful.
cold world,
stop reminding me i'm so vulnerable.
oftentimes i do not understand
this world.
the city
the scene
the wilderness.

the happenings of a story
are in the works
or whatever.