The state of my mind is in disarray. Although organization of the mind seems desirable, I don’t desire. I. I. I. I don’t understand I. The seperation between self and I seem clear enough to see. Or is that imaginative? Monks imagine, I think. That long standing wall in front of closed eyes is just a wall. Stupid. That spurt of rightousness was based on conjucture. Stupid.
The ink in my skin squirms, I think. Reality is dull. Living to become what you dream. Really? I don’t think so. Living a dream. hmmm. Bullshit!