perceived perceptions

The tail of my dream slithered away between gears whirring; nothing happened, no shriek, and the day moved on. It was one of those I usually flee from. Then while making coffee I realized the conflict was unwinnable. A turning point, not the gears, but my perceptions of what I live for; refusing to die a zombie.

Statistically the world is less violent than ever before. Yet predation persists by those who would sell us things unnecessary by psychological manipulation. Violent penetration of our psyche. Entertaining, until buyer's remorse sets in, wondering why I did that.

Highly adaptive, until I could no longer contain my distemper, apprehending death by rote. I've always had difficulty expressing my love; articulating adoration. Pleasant for awhile but then becomes fawning this inflecting of my perceptions of you.

Who you?

You all.

Otherwise it is which socks to wear with what tie and/or will I miss the game tonight? Addicted to crap food for the mind. Is that life? Small wonder I am a comedian: neglected, ignored, abandoned physically or chemically throughout life by those I loved, then and now, all forgiven--they and myself.

Mindfulness implies consequence to what I say, do and think. The fleeting dream from which I awakened, running away to escape, reminds me to engage logical consequence to my actions before committing them. . . .Engage thought before popping the clutch. For those innocent of ever driving a stick shift automobile; think putting it in drive: pedal to the metal. I'm that way but have found the right stuff to face the consequences.

Is my greed for your well being a replica of the lords of slums bored; thoughtlessly torturing their victims for amusement. But seen in reverse=obverse. The other side of a coin tumbling through time. Bright on one side dark on the other? Flashing then a no-see-um.

Since being excreted from hospice I have labored to understand what to do with what little remains of my life? Discovered: To hold the hand, not of the dying but the living dead, perchance to enable their dreams unconscious.

Another way would be to write fiction, plays, movie scripts or poetry but I sense there is so little time for me and we, the all of us.

Baldly conscious that everything has been said before, in most cases better, I began to examine the seeds of my curiosity; wandering the, as Montaigne said, garden of quotes. Even weeds are glorious once you come to know them. The will to life loving the light.

Where else could I find the freedom to laugh and cry? To sigh and swoon; for the love of being as crazy as I am and am becoming? Those who claim to judge insanity are simply insane doing the same things over again expecting different results.

Once again, and again, I've written myself marginally forward to sanity. Otherwise I'd die of boredom since boredom best describes our time. Control freaks lead us over the cliff of greed.

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Unable to find a life worth living? Make one up! . . . something you're willing to die for.

“The greatest good you can do for another is not just to share your riches, but to reveal to him his own. “ - Benjamin Disraeli

130428 02:55 MDT perceived perceptions

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved