Surely when in jest, gesticulating gestures go good, or something to similar effect. I think. Perhaps I don’t think. Perhaps the idea of thinking is something that we trick ourselves into believing when all we’re doing is running on instinct, or something to similar effect. I think.
However, now that that has been clarified, is it certainly the day of mornings when the evening collapses into itself and reveals a backdrop for which could never be reached but only seen and felt; not literally, but still felt? Perhaps there is no one to ask but ones own self and to your self you must be real. If you are not real then you are not real. In that situation it is difficult to reel in the unwieldiness of life and life is the thing that must be reigned and controlled so as to make sure that the thing does or does not happen, whatever that thing may be.
Perhaps it is time to reconvene with the rocks and engage in a conversation with them about the passage of time and see what it is that they have to say. I shall see the words as they are spouted over many a millennia, but hope that I do not get so old and impatient that I find other things to do. That would indeed be a bit of an issue and somehow the hopelessness of it all, alongside the inevitability of change makes me think that perhaps my time best be spent among the fish and trying to work out what it is that they don’t want to do and see if they can form some sort of universal collective that allows some sort of indisputable harmony within the confines of reality, and then some. That might be a good idea, but I’ve got things that I need to do.
Will they get done? Will they not get done? Will there be any questions that see themselves answered? I do not know. Of course, there will be some questions, but I’m not questioning those questions and I am not questioning their ability to see themselves find themselves as questions that may or may not be answered. I’m not questioning anything at all and I’m questioning why that is the case. Perhaps that is what the rocks will be able to tell me, but I think I’d rather approach the birds or the trees. There is a good chance that they may provide the answers that I seek.
Maybe instead of all of that I’ll just approach someone who can make sense of the chatter and reorganise it so that it forms the image of which I cannot draw and thus I will draw it into my being and see some sort of revelation that will not reveal much; just enough to hint at the capacity to be curious and go on the trip that involves the exploring further so as to be able to learn some more stuff, and then some.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:12:10
It’s more words strung together in some sort of incoherent fashion… I think.
This was about creating imagery. I feel as though I didn’t have enough focus to convey that, but I do like the way the words come together.
Written at home.