January 29th 2009
Some, where I proceed to place, others, as I proceed to gather, but, most of all in the right frame of mind - everything seems to be almost surreal. Yet, there is nothing worth the thought. To me, this is the least endearing part of my life. It is an abstract kind of journey, a retentive - or - holistic relapse of the sort, where the things that you see before you are not really there. However, everything is connected in some peculiar measure of total fascination. That is to say, this is a brain, which in every direction it turns toward the opposite reference it came. There, by which focused upon the mind could only be asking one question, in relation to being, what should I be asking myself. There is no reply. Says-who-says the mind, that moment, all is present in a clarity that a perfect peace offers, a kind of wherewithal which without one would not decipher its whereabouts the relic of one's personal wealth in serenity.
No comments:
Post a Comment