Disassociation 

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Where you know it’s happening but you’re watching. When you feel your body but can’t control it. Where you understand but don’t act. Numb. Fights inward. Fights outward. Life. Acceptance? Grief, GUILT. What is it? 

Words can’t describe, because words don’t experience. If I place my hands, just there you’ll understand. But you can’t, you don’t accept. 

I give, give, give… to nothing. What do I give? My life, my energy. Does it matter? It only is matter. Matter and their workings. Energy. I put my energy into you. Then what? Push back, flaming death back into my face. But from under it comes. From myself. Was it I who pushed? Did I give to receive this? 

Words, distraught. Words, misunderstood. Words, painful words. They mean nothing. 

But if I place my hands just there, maybe you can understand. I repeat this why? Because you’ll never understand. Never. You will not understand because you are not me, you don’t need to understand, so why speak? Silence, just, patience, time; tried and true 

Fight, fight again, with me with you. Feel the push. Feel. The. Push. When I place my hands just there. It’s true. My hands, they don’t lie. My hands can’t lie, they can’t speak. Truth is hidden, it’s hidden from above, below, under, in, out, around. Forever truth rings in a song. Music so beautifully, painfully, emotional. The music of us. 

Disassociation of life. Reality? Truth? What is it? 

The Little Psuedo-Sibling

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It’s like a little sibling that isn’t really there, at least that any one else can see. But you know. It’s like a voyage to another world with this singular mind that has a companion. Yet the mind is expansive – how else could it create this false world? 

In objectivity, the sense of the other stays. Here is my sibling. My other mind in which argues with me. In which neither really exist. Yet I listen to our banter – or is it their banter? Is it me that I’m agrueing with? Or am I watching the argument? 

So I watch. Both subjectivity and objectivity. Who is who? Complain about this, yet in the same breath award the thought. Yes, this is a good idea – but don’t actually do it because it’s stupid. Wait, what? 

I’m trapped in this confusion. This mind that thinks even know someone is reading this blog to plot against me – and I’m not talking about a sibling reading my diary, the paranoia goes beyond that. Like the police or CIA are reading my words to say yep she needs to be taken out. We can’t afford to let her talk. Or much more eccentric the aliens are reading it from the future saying yep she needs to die before she exposes the secrets. 

I have secrets you see that only me and my sibling share. That I watch being talked about, but that I’m saying. Greater than myself these ideals come to me. Greater than any world or universe. There’s much more meaning than just a thought – it’s beyond the mind capablies – but how do you ask, can I think of it if minds can’t perceive it? Because i don’t exactly “think” it, but I do at the same time. It’s more than a thought. 

And I don’t even know how that flowed to create a compete thought but that’s what I got.