A Journal of Sorts
"breathe, breathe in the air don't be afraid to care leave but don't leave me look around and chose your own ground for long you live and high you fly and smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry and all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be" ~ Pink Floyd ~ the further philosophical ponderings of a toon... what a difference a day makes, a week, a few months, a few hours, a moment... and yet... time is the relative, thought gives it subsctance, but thought is ethereal, flesh gives it substance, but flesh is transitory, time gives it meaning, but meaning is illusory... so is it all fantasy?... and how do you really know?... it was a time of innocence when touching was allowed before the curse of abstenence before the holy shroud it was a time without a sin when feeling was embraced before the curse of loneliness before fear replaced the love we chased did you fall for all the lies within temptation or did you fall for all that lies within temptation did you fall for all the lies within sensation or did you fall for all that lies within sensation revelation some find it in masturbation some find it in copulation some find it in ovulation some find it in speculation some find it in flagellation some find it in denegration some find it in constipation some find it in stimulation some find it in renuvation some find it in population some find it in rumination some find it in stipulation some find it in segragation some find it in integration some find it in undulation some find it in procreation revelation if you've been reading (or not, if this is your first time, then this isn't a reminder, obviously) a while you already know that I slide into rhyme without conscious effort most of the time and whatever flows in the rhyme is not directed by conscious planning most of the time... the purpose is usually to clear my head and focus on life away from the words (thoughts become words and can be released, sorted, organized, swallowed, digested, and put away so they can be acted upon and more can flow)... writing is a stepping stone, a means to an end, but not the end itself... life, living and sharing the physical world, is the end within this time I know as being alive... and yet... I'd like to think this is not all wasted time J |
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