BUT why not share thoughts with fellow pot hea-- COugh--- artists!
Ok here are somes of my thoughts:
Think, Jb... All I ever do is think. Is that entirely true? Bah! Another question. Is it just adding to the frustration, or is it helping me think clearer then ever before? Questions are an essential part of life. They burden your mind, never ceasing, never giving you a chance to cope with the answer you may or may not have found. Is it so hard to come to realization that I am not perfect? Is there a chance that I may be loved even more for the things that make me human? Is it wise to present my life theories to the minds of children that idolize me? Even when I am not sure of myself? I don’t have all the answers... If I did I wouldn’t be writing this. If the keys were given to me, would the world be safe. Corrupt are the minds of men, because they feel for themselves. I am human. I need to get over this feeling of hatred for humankind. I... ME... MINE... NOT YOU... But ME... Does it makes sense? “Nothing” is a hard word to understand. There is everything, but what is nothing? No one has to deal with nothing, because they will always have themselves. You will never be alone so long as you have yourself to speak to. Does this mean that companionship is obsolete? Hardly... I believe my beliefs are flawed. HA! What a paradox. Obviously, right? Why must I state the obvious? Or is it obvious until you state it? You will never know. That makes sense. I think... You will never know. Is it a circle of vagueness? Or am I being crystal clear on my intentions? Should I ask, or should I keep guessing? Will the answer you give me unlock the doors to a new perception, or will the same questions haunt me? Who are you? Hmm... Am I you, eagerly awaiting my own acceptance? Must I lie to survive? Must I work to live? Must I live to die? Is lying a must, or a maybe? Or does it depend on your own reality? Maybe it depends on the reality you have made up for others. Take a moment to ponder this; why do you do the things you do? Is it to impress someone other then yourself? In the end, it is all for yourself. Even if you do something that batters your beliefs into the infinite of space, what drives us is desire, but is it the desire to survive, or to live? Is there really a difference? Is the mind a huge paradox? Is everyone a hypocrite? Of course... No! Never be too sure of the answer, because reality shifts from one mind to the next. You think one course of action is the best, but then another person might point out the hidden path that leads to heaven. Or hell... Your personal hell or heaven, of course, because reality is what you make it. Ha! Or is it what other make it? Do you do things for yourself or others? Have you ever made a decision based on what another persons perceptions of you is? Does it makes sense to mend yourself for anyone other then me, myself, or I? Or you? Or who? Babble... Incoherent babble. Yes! I have spoke to GOD. I know his name, I know his face, I know his touch, I know his thoughts! Lies... I heard me. You heard me. I heard you. Ha! Again and again. Over and over. A skipping record? An analogy to the human race, perhaps? Or to myself? Hmm... Again... Who do I trust? Myself? No, not really. Do I expect others to believe me. Or course I do. In fact, I am greatly offended when you don’t. When I don’t. When they don’t. Why should they matter so much to me? Is it because I see them as a reflection of myself? Nonsense. You fiend. You can not stop the cycle. You can not be more then human, because that is what you are. Human nature is appalling. Yes? Or no? I think so, but my beliefs are so incorrect, remember? Of course you remember. At least now you do. And who is to say you didn’t before? Only yourself, right? Do you trust yourself? Is it a lie? Is it another excuse to mask your inferior mind? I say it is, but who am I to acknowledge your weaknesses? Who am I to recognize the faults which you are to blame for? Who am I to help you out of your hole? Who am I to tear down the walls of your mind and look through those sincere thoughts of yours? No one. Just another somebody. Another what? Somebody? Who is somebody? Of course you are not a somebody. You are an individual. You are unique. You are special. Reassurance? Do I need reassurance to form my own reality? Does it matter whether or not there is a nod or shake on the other side of the mirror? Do I need the approval of another somebody? Am I too much to deal with already? Should I live in isolation? Should I manifest my wildest dreams into the present? Of course! That is my desire. Or is it yours? Maybe it is everybody’s? I do wish to reveal the truth. I do wish to hide it from everyone except for you. I do not want everyone to know the secrets that have been unveiled. The secrets? Right? And yet, I still do not understand. Life remains a mystery. An endless cycle of incoherent babble. Does it matter. Or does it continue? Do virtues and morals matter as much as you think they do? Or do they just show how much you rely on external forces to make up your own mind? To make a decision. Is it yet another catalyst which we use to turn off the light? Is it important to remember that you are an turning off the light on the world or yourself? Does it mater? Is anything what it appears to be. Am I digging or climbing? Are you falling? Let me help you up, so that you may be indebted to me for rescuing you. That is the agreement, isn’t it? Or am I just the fool who failed to sign this unspoken pact? Or are you the fool who failed say it? How do you say “hello” without speaking? How do you say “goodbye” without thinking? How do you think without living? How do you live without thinking? Very vague... Very vague indeed. And so it shall remain? Maybe? Or maybe as long as you let it? Do the cycles wear you thin? Or do they compile and add to your girth? Does this solve your problems, or does it add to the plethora of riddles spread throughout this spectacular thing that I like to call, “YOU”. Does it ever end? When did it start? I can’t remember... So was there ever a beginning? Without a beginning, can there be an end? Does that mean I can not die? Or does that just mean that I have never lived?
J.b.
