Thursday, July 26, 2007

Not this nor any other...

It's not just the fog that comes in on little cat feet, its the pitter patter of dread. I'm watching the light fade from my eyes, and I wonder at the break point- when the perception of loss is overcome by the loss of perception. Trust in objects and chemical reactions leads to objectification and a reaction to chemicals; the path of least resistance has lead to me without resistance to my least.

The craving for creature comforts creates a creature that derives comforts in craving, and lacks the ability to be comfortable. Between stimulation and sedation, asphyxiation and intoxication, obsession and stupefaction, the space for clarity and reflection has narrowed to the razor's width; not so much a place to stand as an edge to slice off any delusions of sensing sensibility. My mind has lost its perspective, leaving me adrift in the confusion of a sea of my own spawning.

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