you're so lovely

sometimes, it hits me and makes me so incredibly filled with shame about how little I know.
How naive I am. How I act along with stupid things like "worries" and "fears" keeping my mouth shut about things, and over thinking things until someone else opens their mouth, and gets the credit. Nothing should be thought about. Thinking denotes importance. And importance is garbage.

I want to know things;
insights
and wisdom before anybody.

I don't like wanting that, but I do.
Insights are all trash though or all treasure depending on who you are
and what you let it mean relative to you.

I claim to understand the way i work, and I do.
A lot of it's been bred in to me; a lot of it is innate.
But there are vast minds out there that understand
and never get caught up with thinking about anything because they know their minds aren't honestly capable of determining if anything truly is important, let alone, knowing said truly important things. They can sense it's inconceivable amplitude.

Yet they grasp something too.
Something I don't know how to break away from.
They understand that they don't have to be so naive.
They don't have to look at things with or even know the idea of "importance".
They know and can feel every fucking unimaginable aspect of strange "phenomena" we would call it.
Things most people look at, and don't even notice.
This phenomena, we look at as real, or unreal all the while thinking we have the right to invent such a word, and to categorize anything around us under our silly little vocabulary.

How dare I ever allow myself to feel sorrow? What is jading me, and making me feel like there is a screen I can't see that if I could only grab a hold of and pull down, I could be filled, and burst with indescribable enlightenment of some sort.
And bliss.
Wordless understanding that would leave me crying in relief after all the years of straining to reach the sheet,
in agony at the unbearable weight of a human body
a human mind, and human instincts;
Existing in a different yet identical dimension, once blind, this time
filled with unintelligible awe.

Awe.
the word doesn't do it justice.
I would be in true form there.
I would have no emotions because I would cease to be me as "i" was enveloped in a wholeness, and an emptiness, and a quiet, comforting, glowing, sleepy existence.




Now you-- you're so much smarter than that and you shouldn't take any deep advice from such an egotistical fuck because you have more depth than it could ever dream of being able to so much as recognize. I think people shouldn't take things so seriously because like i said, no conclusions can be come too, and trusted;
even that one.
and that one.
And yes, all of them.

Realizations are bullshit.

Sometimes I think I don't like things, and I might not like things a lot, but the real reason is not due to the nature of things themselves, but the idea of significance again, and how steadfastly humans stick to it, and don't question it, or question themselves, or go past logic. I can't stand blind, stupid certainty. And the way everything gets taken advantage of . We complain because of things we think we know, and all of this, could mean nothing because all I have is my logical mind and its logical bounds.

Everybody wants to be different but nobody can.
We'ree all trees. We all have basrks, and leaves, and need soil and oxygen to grow in, and expand, and lose leaves.

But no tree grows in the exact same directions with identical roots, colors, leaves, bark, texture, or branches. We're all the same and certain things aren't optional, because its what makes us who we are.

Snowflakes are all snowflakes. All crystals, all frozen water, all come from the sky.
But no two are exactly alike, they say, because no one's head has been through the same experience from start to present. No one's had the same contunous flow of thoughts and no one ever will because no one else is you and you have a lot to do with your experiences, therefore thoughts, therefore life.