There is no use in fixing a broken heart with anything other than love. That is the phrase that has given me writers’ block many times o’er the years. These sparse sentences will lash out poetically and have no purpose, as I’ve described, this happens now and again, and then I remember to write something. There’s the warmup.
My days are filled with regrets that are immediately ignored, that’s now my new desire, should my goals be unmet then I will have new despondencies from my horrible writing. I’m really not sure why déjà-vu is so angry right now, but it keeps-on happening.
I had a memory of childhood, in a store, my imagination was then, as now, a sea of synesthetic colors, now they are affects the way seasons are. Sporadic, yes, only then I hadn’t dismissed the nature of the dreams or perhaps what they’ve become. Early-on, I’d imagined that all the information was from the cosmos, chockablock with the people of this dirty planet interpreting the errant signals from beyond, awesome to me there were hopes of storylines for people who listened to the starts. Of course, there are those tales, and the message here is lost, and you’re the one to interpret this message.
There was a time when static bothered me, and like an immune system, I’m to guess that I became tolerant or resistant to the headache. There are ways to suppress the nature of imagination (for those of you closely akin, you’ve heard me speak abt this at length) and that suppresses traits of an obsessive nature, but the compulsive nature remains. When you know what, someone is thinking, one might interpret expression or situation, even point of opinion, but the thought is captured at the wrong moment, the wrong memory is transferred. This is a readily available assumption, save not for the ability to communicate in relative ideas.
The static that passes thru our minds, the wifi that passes thru walls, a way to interpret the chaos and reject the cut of useless information. This is the way the other senses work, it wouldn’t be too much to impart for it to have basic essential similarities. As a carnivore, the evolution, or approach of a maxim potent, could still be so the same as the other senses. Easily complex to word sentences properly to question. I’m sure you know what I mean, a written language, even one as complex as the source language, is still far simpler than human thought, and I feel I wouldn’t progress without sharing these thoughts and thinking of something new.
I’ve been having a debate with another house, in that intrinsic language would be the easiest to evolve because it is hidden, as I’m given the answer that it could be hunted for the power it would steal from ability. I’ll let you answer that in your own time. It is to be mindful, after all.
There are things that aren’t logical, some choices aren’t left or right, nor correct or wrong, our potential is not a logical construct, not is it an illogical construct, it is an aspect of our existence. Sometimes one is not the other but the other one is, these subsets do not define our existence. If I were to heal the heart or the brain with something that affected the other, I can’t choose to save just one of them, they are pieces, and there will be evolution. It isn’t logical to eat meat, but it also isn’t logical to starve, unto the plenary and the penury.
It became confusing to hear my own thoughts and I chose my heart to complete me, thankfully humans can survive with the hearts of others, because I won’t make that mistake again; it is better to offer your heart to others than to expect one in return; better to expect people to protect your heart, and way worse to expect people to protect your thoughts. I think therefore I am, a popular quote, but they forgot the most important part, they love therefore they are.
Cultural bias is a quick fire, if it can be shown good deeds of sound mind and solemn body, culture is a surface thought and like the cold depth of space our souls cling to the warmth of any action, be they supernova or stirring molten core. I can change my position by dream or sleep thru movements as much as make waves in perception and see only the wrong sounds. There are deep thoughts that cannot be had, even if shared, and there is an ancient mind beneath our thoughts, creating patterns to interpret symbols, the images of life echo across themselves.
I was writing in private until that last paragraph.