often times I think logical people, take a route that says: "based on what I am aware in the world of modern existence, this emotion is irrational, and/or useless to me, it is therefor detrimental and need not exist." but, this neglects that often life need not be rational, that our chemistry, ultimately, drives our emotions, for rational or irrational perhaps, sometimes due to factors, by which our understanding cannot conceive, no? that we each, are effected by so many stimuli that it's often impossible to even considering clearing a path to root causeeven more so, that a "root" may be many things, or even an unpredictable number of things, in their own, unique combination causing an undesired, or desired effect in emotionbut to destroy those emotions, on the basis that we, whether discovering or not the cause, on the basis of our disagreement with them, is inherently emotional to begin- nevertheless and in avoidance of this knowledge, to destroy that which we do not fully know is always open for the interpretation of possible danger.

sometimes the smudged chalk on the sidewalk left from some kid is more than enough for me to be satisfied, just looking at it smudge.

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I think I need a brisk night of cold air and deadened noise. Still looking for income. its a tough world out there. But then, I look at where I've been and it all seems to simple. I've got years ahead of me, so little I've done this far, but so much it seems.

/adieu

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I'm unable to not think about video games and how they've corrupted me. When I play a game I like to do it the best i can. Usually this means waiting for the "game over" screen and then resuming where my last spawn and save was, in the attempt to not make the mistakes of the last run through. And then the problem surfaces: Life has no save button. There is no restart, no walkthroughs. No matter how hard you try to get someone's walkthrough to fit your life, it'll always come up strange, since every life is a different game. The best others' can tell you is how to jump faster, dodge with more agility and hope to solve puzzles faster, but all the levels are different, the stages have new rules, new weapons, new challenges. As it is I want to plug my life in like a video game, but the walkthroughs keep failing and the save button keeps getting stuck. The only way to really get anywhere is to try to do the best i can and not fret when i miss a monster on the stage as i pass by, only to try to get more next time.

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I've learned that the procreation of myself into thoughts is a risky area. I'm much too corrupted to simply lay out who I am for analysis and hope my purity will Will the test of approval. I constantly struggle with who I am and what I've become. At night, after long days of interaction, I sleeplessly examine the darkness in myself, hoping to find restitution in some small and perhaps still good section of my mind. Usually the thoughts swirl and tumble down recesses of my depraved brain until I slide down with them and arrive the next morning awake to discover I fell asleep.
.
The trouble with human interaction is that it's so volatile. Each of us has our own agenda, whether we know it or not, we do. We have places we'd like to be, relationally speaking that is. We each have our own method, our own viewpoints, our own thoughts. All of these culminating into a single effort of interaction is blistering. Imagine how it all works. The process is rather desultory

I can't say how most people view the stage or the play, or even if they do. As for myself, it's a torrent of random numbers and statistical odds cast into a giant cauldron. I suppose I'm something of an amateur alchemist when it comes down to the truth. I like to toss a bit of this and a tad of that into the mixture. Sometimes I don't even know why I do. Often times reactions can taste sweet, sometimes salty, but on that rare occasion it comes out blatantly bitter with a touch of rotten flesh on the side. I don't like getting burned. I don't think anyone does. 

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Then the paradox is released: that spontaneity is immeasurably healthy in a person's life; the progression leads to a dichotomy of deciding between the freedom of spontaneity and the safety of wisdom.  Then the head begins to spin. Since one can clearly not choose one, nor the other in perfect isolation; nor well chosen is the mixture of the two, since where the spectrum's center is is terribly vague. For me, I have a tendency to limbo in a center ground as an outside observer, trying to remain anonymous. Unfortunately, the wisdom that comes from growth in age and experience inhibits the sensors of avoidance and eventually wheels the mind back to a consonance of consideration.

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for me, often times, I'm found staring at a wall, blank. It'd the underlying structure of thoughts that are driving all that I am in those moments. People may not see it, but I feel it, like a hurricane really disposing my mind to the thoughts inside.
now is a great time for this. I feel... overwhelmed, my fingers are anxious to dance over the keys, to tell a story to the screen, but my mind resists. As though if there is a greater purpose for me existence at that time and my body is unable to recognize the unwillingness of my mind. But never mind all that! I'm willing to press on, to delve into the thoughts of what I have to think, or at least try. The streaming conscious isn't working.. the logical thinking died after my first five words.
but now I think to myself-
"my heartburn is acting up again. "

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The days are like passing spices in the wind, drifting over the stew and festering mold on the wall behind. The mositure crusts over their curdled splurge and until only today we wipe them up with a graying cloth. yesterday's failures become the stories of today and the crust of our memories tomorrow. like a horizon that fiddles a story in dejavu to elude about someones last leave. what say you boy? will you falter in your ways only tomorrow to explain: Adieu! or stick around and filter these thoughts to let them sift and waft in your mind to become anew. sometimes it hurts, sometimes it smells and still later we'll injest, but to think we'll come to perspective that we might survive at last.

=========

like a thousand specks of light exploding, like a fog overpowered. the consecration of feelings until they blurred out all others befell. some time passed and still the effects drove the mind onwards, hardly experiencing pause for breath but running all the same, like a plane on auto pilot, hardly less than luck that life progressed. not until the cold slap of a frozen sea of air clashed my face did my mind realize it was alive. 

set apart from existence, if only for a moment to be saved from the crowding decibel of the streaming pensive. lasting longer and more, the full reset of the mind surpassed beyond.

under the darkness came rectitude from the blinding heels of thought now dissipated. 

 airlife99@gmail.com