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You know once I read about a living man. I read that that man decided he was a woman. But not long after she said she was a man again. And after experiencing all and everything this world had to offer, he decided to deatomize. He wanted to be nothing. But what he didn’t realize is that nothing implies something, so instead of being nothing he decided he’d be everything. so in him he grew a star, then he grew two stars, then he grew three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until one of the stars got bored, there was nothing, so it decided it wanted to be nothing, and it died. But what it didn’t realize is that it was too much to be nothing. So in its corpse it grew a pretty little rock, then two, then three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until those Little Rock’s adopted themselves to the other stars nearby. And circled and played around them until two of the pretty rocks had an accident. One of them hit another, and the one that got hit grew, and the other shrunk. And that big rock became angry and the small one mockingly rotated it taking all its sight staring it in the eyes. And the big rock while enraged crackled and popped, and grew layers upon itself for so long. And once it was completely shelled off from everything else, something clicked. On it it now carried a cell. Now there was something that can experience. Now there was a reason for anything to happen, and everything but only within the steps of this eye. So now it all grew and became elegant. All showing off to this pretty rock. And few angry asteroids later, and a few orgasms, and a little blood. There was a living boy, and that boy grew into a living man. This living man would have a story written about him, and he would read it, and he would say it, and he would scream it, and he would realize it. And so life now birthed. Birth is metaphase. Death now understood as mitosis reversed. everything became real. we as I now see our reflections as my daughters and your parent. Breath through our lungs now.
6d ago

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some evolutionary niche opened up around 300,000 years ago allowing a select group of primates to adapt larger brains in exchange for larger muscle mass and other such traits. it was an astounding success leading to that group of primates to become the most dominant species on the planet. but maybe it came with a price. a price larger than simply larger muscles or better smell. the brains became so advanced and computable that they were able to question their animalistic nature itself. the purpose of all life is that of a divine ring. the days pass in the same cycle as the seasons, such in the same cycle as the years. death and rebirth. that’s truly the meaning of life. to live, then die. in the primal sense of other living things, that’s simply the way of the world, there’s no need to question, as if the rest of the myriad creatures on earth have the capacity to question it. but our brains adapted past that. we developed a certain "post natural" mode of thought. somehow we pushed past the simple cycles of the universe. we have the innate drive of death and rebirth, looking to reproduce and spread. but we became to adept. we lost track of where to end. we fight wars over what we think is the meaning to it all. we harbour money and material wealth to spread influence over others. we created new meanings for ourselves. created goals and endings for when we’d be "complete". we conquered the world looking for one of those answers. those in power incessantly use their power to find their answer. those without try to keep up. we’ve searched and dug up every inch of the planet we were born on in search of our answer, and now, as we’ve desecrated our planet and realized our grand goal for an answer isn’t here, we’ve decided to look beyond our planet. maybe the next one will have our answer. and the next one. and the next one. and the next one. it’s always been the same cycle of desecration, disappointment, and moving on to the next one. the answer isn’t hidden among the stars, or under the ocean, or in the next country over, or in the harboring of trillions of dollars, or in the ultimate manifestation of power. it’s in the orginal cycle of death and rebirth. the experience of life granted to us through the seemingly divine gift of "consciousness". we are notably different from the myriad of earthly creatures, but not in a way that should matter. all that changed were some environmental conditions that allowed our primate ancestors to adapt larger brains. our purpose never shifted. our purpose on earth is to live and experience, then to die, allowing the circle to repeat. it’s no different from any other life form. 
Mar 3, 2025
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I left for a while to go on a study abroad experience. The more time passes after The Thing, the less life makes sense. I'm trying to get back to the people I used to know, to get back into the routine I had, the things I used to think.
But somehow EVERYTHING about and around me is different and I don't understand ANYTHING. My body is different, my time isn't the same and somehow even my thought process has changed.
I came back home expecting familiarity and warmth, and surprise, the world has obviously moved on (as I did) and nothing is the same, except all that is. Maybe not understanding everything I thought I had already integrated is part of growing up, I feel as if I'm shedding old skin to make room for new one, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm scared, confused, and generally don't really get the concept of time passing.
I never used to get when people said they wanted the world to stop for a second, because that wasn't me, I wanted more, faster, more, all of it. Now I get it. Let me lay here for a moment and not think about anything.
☆lookaliveodette!!!!!!☆
Feb 26, 2025
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the real question is, why don’t you? you know what i find really interesting? archetypes.
not quizzes. not tests. not what you put on your little tinder bio.
who decided that a human could only be one of twelve things? a hero? a lover? a ruler? as if to be conscious, to be born, to think and therefore be is to somehow consist of one goal, one skill?
does cogito ergo sum mean nothing to you people ?!
i am alive. i breathe. i bleed, i vomit and i ache. baby i am real. and i am in love. i am an outlaw, i am to be liberated - i am an explorer, i am free. i am safe. i am pleasure, and i am comfort.
do you take comfort in being only one thing? does it help you sleep at night, that you maybe don’t have to hold the weight of the world upon thy shoulders? if only you were just a lover, or a magician, if the sum of your parts only equated to one purpose and one theme then maybe maybe maybe just maybe you would feel sufficient.
if you don’t feel gross, then mamas, i feel gross for you. you were born, and each morning you wake up encased in cells that divide and congeal and amalgamate. you are a body, and a face, a heart and eyes, and you are more than the love you feel or the liberty you crave.
so just think, and just be. you are not an archetype, you are a person.
Feb 7, 2025

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once I dreampt I fell in the crack of two pavement slabs. The fall was weak and subtle, but long and extensive. I could only reach the bottom once I braced myself, and I touched ground with my toes. Followed by heels. And I felt no pressure on my knees. But when I looked around it was so expansively dark, so clean and gradual. The floor looked like a gradient of baby blue to deep black in shadow. And the floor had such soft texture, trillions of tiny grooves and crevices to dozens of small gapes and caverns. Feeling it i felt like I was shaking a hand. And the blood of the opposing secreted out of it and into me, to warm me, to extend me. And after putting my palm against its, I felt my souls seep lower to feel it too. I had no shoes, no protection, I was naked. Exposed. But it felt so right when I lay on my back, my arms unparalleled. I felt euphoria like the calmest of deaths. And I lay still until I noticed the shift, I was on my feet again, my back on the wall now. And emerging from the limitless black I saw a glow of orange. Or pink. Or peach. A phosphorescent button held up by two eyes. And then a face. The structure was blue as the palm of my stability, and smooth as the wall behind. It points its fingers above us, and then to me. Where its omnipotent cornia traveled down its jugular to the four tips at my forehead. It left a sclera in its loss. And when it got that close, it burned me, it burned my soul, and it boiled my chemistry. And it pierced my forehead until I was blind. A blindness filled with color, and pattern. A blindness with utter understanding. I knew it all now, that this is my conscience. That this is experience, that this is existence. And I knew every word across each apparition of each tongue. This feeling dichotomizes my previous rest, and my future rest, but paralleled and copied our eternal form and sight. But when I grasped it all, I was lifted back above my concrete, my vision restored. My memory exhaust. In my knees. I see my door before its invert. With my hand still shaking its hand. And I look down to my feet, my toes warm, and the crack on my porch looking so familiar. So welcoming. Like the arms of my favor.
Jul 19, 2025
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my Stance rely on Grass. perfect posture molt by the Ground. the Sun squeeze Me until I condensate and evaporate upon Myself. the Sky hooks my compulsion to release My hazy stare on It. I bend Myself to find My feet. and between My hooves I see the only Black atop the Green and surround by Sky. I understand I need to know This. I rise and Shamble through memories of the Grass. the Color changes as I explore but the wind blinks Its change sometimes to often. and when It does that I forget the first image, if I saw It again Id never learn. but One Thing stay real, the Black. but now, Its Brown below, and shaped closer to recognition. and after the repetitive process of gullible reconnaissance the Weather changes Its final time, It is clear. and when I look up, It is there. A clean Fawn-Crow. the Utter Reflection, of what is Mother. of What is calamity that is of Me. It Stands like I do, just as It rose and Stumbled along to Me, as I Stand and watch Its voyage closer to memory. and now I know what it all was for. but still, I want to Walk like that again. so I lay, and dream in the Light of the Sky, as Clouds perform.
3d ago
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in my experiments I am exposed. Where the hand of the cleansed pets my scalp, and digs its nails well under my meninges. And grasps onto my chiasm to force my head back out of where it rests, and where it’s been. And I see, the sky bore a pearl. The pinball above casts its atmosphere around us as a dome containing the fog of our skin. Shrouding my prints, and the tracks of my parents. And the map of our possibility is black as the forgotten while beneath. And when the hand releases, I fall to rest and exhaust my memory. And so it fades. Afterward, I walk a little past the white of our sclera onto the cornea, I feel chemical burns on my feet. But the warmth is so telling. So I look at the glow of the phosphorescent spots. They become real seeping through my sight from a figment to a child’s. And as I focus myself on them they grow and consume to create a light beyond the torches of my predecessors. It shows the path we must. Its ambiance lifts me from my souls and its light spreads my retinas to three dimensions over again. And as my skin disappears I see the marble. I reach, but I can only grab its ninth layer of armor. So I climb and conquer the phosphorus cushion to feel the dome. And I peer over it briefly before the shine in my lens smolders and my skull weighs me to the ground one step back. The cascade uninitiated, but close to repeating reliance.
3d ago