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Literature Text
There is no me
And there is no you
There is nothing
What our minds created
There is no space
For our forged projections
Bodies are but vessels
Of mindless activity
Nothing I think
Is true
Nothing I feel
Nothing I perceive
There is no one
In my empty brain
My pseudo-personality
Is my biggest vanity
No true meaning
No one to hang on to
There is nothing
In my subjectivity
I can talk
Or I can walk away
Free of consequence
Free of the world around
I can die
Or I can live forever
Nobody can see me
And I barely see myself
Shades of happenings
Simply pass me by
Flow around my bones
And my false reflection
And the silence screams
For my fake existence
Where anything is real
If I picture it to be
And there is no you
There is nothing
What our minds created
There is no space
For our forged projections
Bodies are but vessels
Of mindless activity
Nothing I think
Is true
Nothing I feel
Nothing I perceive
There is no one
In my empty brain
My pseudo-personality
Is my biggest vanity
No true meaning
No one to hang on to
There is nothing
In my subjectivity
I can talk
Or I can walk away
Free of consequence
Free of the world around
I can die
Or I can live forever
Nobody can see me
And I barely see myself
Shades of happenings
Simply pass me by
Flow around my bones
And my false reflection
And the silence screams
For my fake existence
Where anything is real
If I picture it to be
Literature
The Thorniest Stem to Hold
You know, I always did see an odd beauty in the wreckage I could find a certain charm in broken things, like the devastation left by a wildfire or the rubble of a collapsed building, there is a strange aesthetic in the brokenness of both things and people *** I always wondered at the way the life still somehow lingers, like nature takes over abandoned places or grows back from the destruction, the ashes nourish new forms of life, different but just as miraculous, like trees grow out of decaying bodies, or tears cleanse the soul, and broken people have a weird way of still functioning regardless, like heightened empathy and unwanted wisdom grew from all that ugliness, I think maybe my fascination was born out of recognition and the wonder out of hope that maybe something could blossom from the ruins of me too, maybe I could regenerate too and maybe all the wrong that stunted my growth and strangled the life out of every
Literature
Drowning
I reach my hand
And you grab it
I pull back and
Plead you to quit
I am drowning but I
Do not need you nearby
All you do is stop me
From sinking in the sea
I shout for you
And you reply
I try not to
Make you come by
I try again
You are not there
I cry instead
Does no one care?
I am drowning but I...
Get back!
No, hither
Attack!
I dither...
One more try, I'll
Show them the pain
No more fake smile
No more I'll feign
Why do they touch
My hand so cold
It is too much
I just withhold
I am drowning and I
Do not need them nearby
Literature
Secrets
The archives bursting at the seams A crack slithering on the walls How long can be those secrets kept till the snake grows and the dam falls the paper in the darkness gleams? How long can be those secrets kept Words wrapped in the thickest covers Is this how your design congealed Friends turned into hateful brothers feelings scorned and the trust bewept? Is this how your design congealed Of honesty to be bereft? Open the archives, drain the dam until there is nothing left but the naked truth revealed
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A few days ago I was walking down the street, listening to some industrial and smiling at the fact that we subscribe so much importance to our own personalities, to our own egos. It's funny because the very existence and nature of the human ego is eluding any explanation of neuro science. The best we can say is that there is no place in the brain where it actually exists, it is just an emergent property of our neural activity. We cannot even say if having self-awareness on the human level is evolutionary advantageous or if it's just a side effect of our increased intelligence.
When the realisation that there is no real 'me' directly present between by brain's synapses really hit me, when I realised that the world around continues in its own pace, in a reality that is free of my ego, I almost fainted from the marvel. I could not shake the feeling that I am but a virtual image, somehow residing in my body that functions regardless of my consciousness or my sanity. My feet take me where my brain calculates the destination to be, and I observe my own thought processes, self-reflect and fool myself into believing that it was me, my own will that decided where to go or what to do. That I am somehow a master of the matter, that my personality alone makes my limbs move and my hormonal levels to change as needed. If you really think about it, it sounds ridiculous. No, I am but an observer. Locked inside my brain, I am simply in for the ride, wondering about the point of my own existence. Inside, anything is possible, because that's where I reside. But I am forever separated from the outside world.
© 2014 - 2024 Elendurwen
Comments32
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The description... I view it the same way. It is, also in a way somewhat beautiful.