An Unbroken Flux of Acidic Thoughts

How does one become unique and original?
What makes one original?
To be honest?
My friend once suggested this idea.
How incredibly simple but also so strange.
How can honesty make someone unique?
Are we always trying to hide from the truth?
What is it that makes vulnerability something that we fear?
The most honest and true thing is to share your ideas, thoughts, and feelings with someone,
Like the brittle shepherd pup falling on its side, rolling onto its back to reveal its underbelly to the sun. So unique. So completely and utterly beautiful. I wish to be able to do that someday.


It can be hard to find substance in a substance less world. I feel as if I am trying to keep all these thoughts and feelings alive in a realm without an energy source to provide its needs.
I keep searching.
Diving deeper into the dimensions of my soul
A soul-searching spiritual journey through every entered door way.
I enter and learn
and I am trying to discover the answers for humanity
What lies ahead?
What are we doing?

It seems like I cannot accept the truth for what it even is.
I keep searching when I think I’ve found the answer.
I don’t want to stop my journey. Do things end?
Will this ever finish?

Now how does one define that?
Just because one appears odd, is that how one comes to be called crazy?
Is it all in my head?
Are we all crazy?

Absoluteness does not exist.
Everything is so circular and connected.
There are no ends,
Merely new beginnings.

Thank you,
for I am one step closer to being able to understand the things around me.
I am ready to learn. To step back and view the world more open-mindedly and objectively.
I am grateful for the things I have
I should stop criticizing others out of my own insecurities.
I do see now,
I am much wiser.
I have learned much today.

The naked bodies oozing in and out of the walls of my extended thoughts
Ripping, gliding and seeping into each other
becoming vulnerable,
incredibly beautiful
but it can also take a turn for the worse.

What is it that we are doing?
What is my existence?
Why is my mind so busy buzzing about?

What is it about the stranger that fascinates me?
The promise of something yet, there are no expectations.
No expectation of prolonged contact with the one possessing the title of the “stranger”
A nameless interaction that at times can be insightful and hold some meaning.

As if you will someday possibly remember this interaction.
It will haunt your memory for a flash of a second
and you will still remember
why? you are not so sure.

As we take each gulp
of each alcoholic beverage
what is it that we’re wishing to find or achieve
We are unable to accept ourselves the way we are
So in order to attempt to find happiness
We desire to wash away our memories.
At what price?
How should one presume after?

Do we even appreciate all of the beauty we are surrounded by each day?
Communicating with the stranger,
in itself is a wonderful thing.
I have come to a realization that we need to accept ourselves,
Allow ourselves to become vulnerable.
That is the most pure and true thing any man can do.

The melting oozing doors,
The spiritual journey that lies ahead, as I
break open and find more possible answers
attempting again to solve this jigsaw of a life

What does trying even do?
How much is enough?
When can we stop?

Will these questions ever be answered?
Who are you?
What are you?
Are you alien?

It seems that all I truly desire,
Is to be able to see one’s soul.
I want to know someone,
Inside and out,
Spiritually connected
Away from vapid nothingness into all.

I’ve never felt so wise.
I understand, everything.
I feel as if I have truly opened my eyes for the first time,
I have learned objectivity.
I have seen it.
I desire it.
Being subjective is akin to blindness,
The picture is never clear.

As I lay on the ground,
Staring at the stars,
I am able to see my face.
I can see my pixelated mirror image up in the stars.
The blissful moments with music
swirling into the crisp early morning air

Forgive my pathetic vocabulary,
But let’s not be judgmental.
I am an artist.
Organization is much too difficult.
Let’s speak in tongues?
I am a fucking hippie.
But I am not judging.
I am labeling myself for I acknowledge that I may sound crazy.
But then the people around me tell me I am not so.
What is this?

Learning from others is one of the most beautiful things a person could ask for.

I am a ball of energy,
Of hopes and dreams,
Trapped inside a can.
I am unsure of how to open it
How can I escape?
This feeling is so overwhelming
But all very so interesting.

I have been through the looking glass, Alice
I now know more than I have known in the past
Many thanks for such a time.
I hope to see it again and learn some more
What is reality even?

That superficial appearance
What is inside your head?
Can you even breathe?
Childishness of drunken breaths of the early morning

As I wander about,
I see you all,
mere children.
using a seemingly more mature medium for your escapist tendencies

Please stay
I want to be able to see
Don’t let me lose sight again.