Personally speaking objectively

insulated ignorance
blanketing misconceptions,
making what is
into what might be.
possibility unknown of certainty,
could be this,
that that is not.
an ideal personally subjected
to personal objectivity.
wait, that doesn’t make sense.
impartial review cannot
count upon experience.
facts dictate facts that
individuation particularizes.
the minority speaks to
unheard majority volumes.
is life lived less
than life objectified?

Ashamed of being

just because i have a penis,
doesn’t mean i’m a dick.
well, not entirely.
some people deserved
to be fucked,
but that’s besides the point.
and no, this point is not
located between my legs.
not that you’d be able to find
anything substantial there.
i’m ashamed
to be a male.
please, forgive the past
to which currently
makes me guilty
of things
i’ve not done.

I try art because art lives

“art saves him, and through art – life.”

this was a line that i took, probably out of context, from friedrich nietzche. you must pardon me, for i’m trying to read what i don’t know, which to be honest, is everything. disregarding his initial intention, i’ve taken these words to mean something else to me.

this snippet in particular resonates with why i create, let alone think. i’ve always used some form of art to express myself. it’s a cyclical existence you see: i live to create and i create what i live. i’ve tried to realize my shortcomings as a so called “artist” – the lack of technical proficiency and misconception – although, i use these weaknesses as a strength. how can a weakness be a strength? simple. to know one’s limit is to know one’s progress.

i will admit mediocrity, even when i strive for originality. Knowing this, i still create what i can with what i’ve got because this cathartic impulse can only be satiated by myself.

regardless of its uselessness to others, i create because i live and i live for that ideal that is but a shadow of reality i experience.

Putting you before me except after, let’s see

what’s worth all this fighting and control if what we fight for and try to control is extinguished the moment we die? of course, we should not give up on living an ideal of a good life, but is there a way to attain what we want without hurting others? in a similar fashion of lessening our environmental footprint, can we not take the same precautions towards that of our fellow neighbours? there are things i want in life and in order to get them i must put myself first. although, in doing so i feel like i’ve now become an obstacle in someone else’s pursuit. i question my self-worth and don’t see why i should value myself over another. progress cannot be made atop of faulty foundation. i guess i really should just take stock and invest it in a stronger framework. i know that where i’m going, there’s no need to rush, nor will i have to  cut in line. the finish line is marked, but the end is indeterminate. i might a well suck the life out of each second because that’s how long it all takes.

We are change of life

imagine life as a cosmic stew of which feeling speaks the only truth. all this talk, all this rationally is nothing without sensory interpretation. the “true” language of being is feeling. if life is but a chemical reaction, how can sensory interpretation be deemed unfit as rational? surely we can quantify precepts, but means cannot encompass the odds and ends. i trudge through a goop traversed by many others, with no more knowledge or understanding than those of “formal” training. we’ve created specific words, although none can contain me. how can we be expected to use a language to speak standards, when we are anything but sameness? We are constantly changing, and will forever be changing, as long as life exists. life is a change otherwise it would be death.

Get a life, or at least another one.

being alive,
how does this phrase,
get a life,
apply as an insult?
to be honest,
i’m confused.
when i’m living a life,
how am i to
get another one?
i don’t have
more than one,
unless i’m schizophrenic.
even so, i’m still bound
by one consistent life.
i might unconsciously
partition my being,
but we leech off
the same being.
in the end,
our variation is
but discrepancy in stability.

Sold to feel the same in another way

should i be trying for something?
am i trying to be or am i just trying?
creation feels contrived regardless
of my feeling during creating.
i lokk upon what i’ve created
as being stolen, but then again,
who wants to steal shit?
maybe a scatologist?
but i don’t suppose
there are many out there
in search of a shit
i’ve regurgitated.
yes, i’ve puked up shit,
but so have many others.
they just so happen
to market their vomit
as priceless experience.
it’s a damned shame
i’ve fallen for experience
felt in another way.

Dying as i have lived

do you know what you’re doing? i wish i could say yes, but no, no i do not. wait, what am i talking about? of course i know what i’m doing: i’m living. surely we all have a different opinion on what qualifies as living, but for me, as long as you’re breathing, you’re living. i know many would argue against this fact, but technically, to me at least, it seems like a self evident truth. now, what you do while you’re breathing, that’s a whole other story. maybe that’s what people mean by the statement, “get a life.” if it was like Mario world, heck, i would collect the hell out of those green 1 up mushrooms, but since this is not video game land, i’ll just live within myself. it’s hard to understand others when one cannot understand oneself. i seem to like things and not like things and so do other, yet i can’t find someone of which makes me feel wholly similar or comfortable. i might divulge personality to another, but that is in hopes to find reciprocation. alas, i’m left alone and wanting. for what, i cannot comprehend, nor does another. alone i was born, and alone i shall die. half knowing myself and those of whom i consorted with.