Flying... on the wings of my dreams... Feasting... on the cheese of sitcom themes... cause words are so useless, worthless, meaningless, followed closely by notes. Then sounds. That's when the words about letting it all flow as it's all disposed to around me seem to magically take on substance again, corporeal. Was corporeal going away? What was here to stay?
Gift of not record - too special for that. State-bounded serrations, squeezed between ecstasy/pain and all that... ouch, the pain of changing gears - losing a whole timeless slice of ecstasy in meaning of playing notes and sounds.
This is how much I don't care, and it'll get silly, cause I'll care again later. The pointless meditation on whether or not something matters, what is posting? In my case, a component that might as well be tracked by an AI algorithm. Rhyming history, and so forth. Just something I would say.
Get back on the high horse, nevermind that something didn't get recorded, assign meaning to that, but don't assign self dogmatic tasks as homework.
this time it'll work because chaos. This time that line will be replaced with this combination. Find and replace. This time there are no wrong answers. No wrong feelings.
Also, remember, how good it can feel. And it's ok. For every day even, possibly. It might be good to bridge state boundaries, group some gluons together and glue them together, those two states, and the shades of gray lying therein. When it's pouring out of my head, and I'm remembering dreams as vividly as I can imagine, then, it's worth a fuck of a lot, fireworks, better than sex. It does come at a cost, but it needn't tax my health. Could benefit it even. Call it a happy substitute accident.
It really is hard to bridge those boundaries sometimes. Maybe I need to complicate it further. Overthink it just the right amount. Exercise virtuosity. Continue to eschew age-related cliches and overcome, open the eyes again, feel the feeling again, no need to justify. But how to use? How do I use it?
Still lacking the part of the journal where I say things straight, uncoded, yet weirdly leaving coded message to myself. Well, I said that. Scared to turn on a light so bright, do I want to know? Don't I know, though? When transitions are redundant, forced, sections glued together. But it all sounds ok. Ok. Okay? Ok.
Flow around is still hard to assimilate. There are no wrong answers. Stop censoring yourself. Start talking to yourself. Prescribe yourself heroin, or whichever one is the best opiate, like in the quality index of opiates, much superior to fentanyl, it's like one of those car guide-books, factoring many criteria into the equation. Although it's more of an art than a science.
Don't put too much stock in some imagined objective. Could leave "objective" less defined to multiply possible interpretations but that would be gratuitous. I meant objective reality, not an objective like a goal. Although. That's another place I could go.
Mix it up, I say to myself, affirming things to myself. I don't really have much to say to you, or you either, or the world. This is the closest I can get to some simulation of a coked-up monologue, one of the many things I dream about. Here's another age-related cliche, I'm seeing my life as hardening into being this person, that may not change significantly for decades, at least not in ways I'm not compelled to by the procrustean bed of nature - sure. There's a voice here somewhere, smothered in roots, choking in substrate, coughing up clay.
I may have hardened into crusts of thinking a certain way. They will erode, they're fragile in geological time, in the time chessmasters can plan empire displacement, generations, but in the timeframe I live in, and think in, they're not too changeable, stubborn. Mindset. I'll probably be having those dreams for as long as I can foresee. The most pitiful dreams, like being a custodian, like that's something I am, and not something I do in certain hours. I'm not much of a hustler in that sense, I can't care about money too much. I'm not into the vibe of capitalism, although it's sort of embarrassing to be battling it. In some mediated mindsets I can almost sustain a sense of righteous anger, even hate. The best use of it though is maybe songs that might be censored in certain algorithms for being inciteful.
Today is maybe an anomaly, but I'm having a hard time with my voice, the sound of it. Or I'm just less deluded than normally. I don't want to commit to either this or that, but it felt great to commit to every fucking note I was playing, it felt fucking fantastic.
