And he is dying, he will buy you a drink, he named it himself. Gin n Tonic with a slice of orange. Stab the orange and mix the pulp and citrus, and you have the creation, his creation. His bid for immortality, he is dying. So I put his name on the internet, and tell myself I have done my part.

I am thinking about what it means to see yourself. I see now so much of my own image in my mind is grafted on from story and mythology, and so little of it is generated through action. In my head I think I invoke the respect of the dead who have built the path on which I walk, instead of realizing that it is a path I have not built, and a path I am not building. Too much time setting myself up as a protagonist to some story. Not enough time being a person people can depend on. Not enough time keeping myself from being a burden on my family. Not enough action. I believe I may be allergic to it.

Everything just works. I think that is because the words I am using don't have to make sense for my mind to accept them.

My head was wingblade this morning. My whole body was thumping as I experienced jitters from the coffee and energy drink combo I indulged in to try and keep me afloat long enough to break in and out of my classes. My head was flying I was swimming and I was repeating my mantra over and over again, truth in subjectivity, truth in subjectivity. because what does it mean to see like an object? What does it mean to lose that bias? and I knew what it was, to see like an object is to go blind, because what defines an object is its lack of senses. Objects are dumb, unaware. They are controlled. When we point to things we have measured and witnessed through the manipulation of objects, is this proof of the fundamental flaw of being an object that perceives? No. What it proves is that we have made efforts to enhance our own perception. We desire the best view of life that we can get, and it isn't objectivity, it isn't passivity it is through active perception. That is our implicit choice in continuing our lives. Active perception and knowing. Knowing as a point, knowing as an area, no difference really only scale. Such as Sagan's pale blue dot, to perceive as a speck, but what if, we only saw the planets as specks? and then suddenly you were the speck.

Be wary of a man that tells you life is an illusion, not that it couldn't be, but declaring yourself blind is an especially circuitous statement.


and that my friends, is how red bull takes you to crazy town.

The spirit walks with me
with me, under this light,
on this road, I believe
I feel it here, tonight

It knows I am shaman
It knows I am shame
It knows the weight of men
It says so, it speaks of rain

I listen through senses
scent of gravel, a whine?
tense air waits, releases
splendid, the spirit chimes

I can't bear you, spirit
My kin, I am not fit
I can not, I will not
I live only to rot
I confess my failure
end my constant torture
Free me! let me take flight

The spirit walks with me
with me, under this light
It knows I am shaman
It knows I am shame
It speaks through senses

"My brother, my keeper
over old desert plains,
over generations,
we have walked together
your father knew my name
In your blood a warrior,
In your dreams a mane,
Listen to my warnings,
fight now, protect your place"

I can not, I will not
My kin, I am not fit
I will not be shaman
I will endure my shame

I listen through senses
No spirit walks with me
on this road, in this light
Freedom feels like suicide

I am here again, running, chasing is what I love for. The reality is stillness but the delirium is frantic and chaotic and the goal, the target pulsates and blazes in the mind. It was not am arms length away and I stayed my hand, as if it was fire and I were mindless. It passed, and I waited, sulked, dallied and delayed masterfully, until that moment hit, the primal fuel, the want. I, want. And I am here again, running, chasing. As if what I wanted was the chase itself,but I have seen too many silhouettes slip away from fancy and fingers to believe it is the chase I want, when it is the lack of action that I regret. I, want. I will not have, and the reality of it validates itself, to go without is evidence of not doing enough. To be hungry is not to be hungry enough. To be still, is to be gone, and to be here, in a moment's madness, is to fear.

With my hand out, I am afraid.