you ever notice we mostly dream in the darkness?

'all my nightmares are just reality, and my dreams are just dreams"

-delete me, i'm ugly, a zine

I don’t know how to tell the variations of ‘I miss you’ to take consuming caresses into the realm of conversation

to capture a thread of desire and share it with you unraveling like unsewn prints in every direction we fail to look these are the thoughts that comfort me on rough nights spent between yearning and reflection but either way I am drawn to dark to spaces and fields where I can do much but never enough where the mirror of our masters pushes me to taste bitter and bite back at the hope where the fog of this war dreams rhythm into my steps and my reach towards another is only a breakaway from what is known where vibes of hatred and pain or sentiments of happy a spectrum of shared moments give fuel to revolt this visage of struggle in our veins does nothing to dampen desire a wing stretching it’s cartilage out of the cramped condition digging our heels into concrete a knot forming on my tendon a bruise pulsing the beat of my mortality reminding me of all that I could give

so many things play out in my head like dischord or any other word they've constructed for it cacophony non harmonious sounds clanging along the inner sanctum of my rotting mind

just hanging about then struck, and moved chatter, echoed and then over again trajectories and contingencies problems repeated dilemmas and quandaries hung up on a word a thought an idea a fucking pause in the dark scribbling thoughts

waiting without slumber so many thoughts, a million pennies one reminds themself- "you don't have to think!" but dear! who has to remind themselves of that?

and so it continues, and so on until the next pause a stream of consecutive consciousness words following ideas forging twisted paths around curved hallways in the caverns where we hide our  - fears - dreams - desires

eyes dart to the pace of thoughts and we lay besieged projecting an idea a concept, theory an articulation a thought pattern

a chemical jump just brief enough to fluctuate your energy even the weight of one idea can freeze your heart but not your thoughts

but wait

it's not true

i said

'i could only interpret and communicate with my immediate physical reality'

and that's not true at all

because we dream, don't we?

(and we can wake up in our dreams)

and we experience cognitive dissonance

and we have deja vu

and i'll spare you the energy consciousness

but clearly

'reality'

clearly we do not know all of the things

Basically, energy is universal, we may* all be experiencing fragments of a collective consciousness, interpreted in this imposed physical reality, and so, together, energy expressed cooperatively in flux and not for dominating purposes is in practice with the universe, plus neuroplasticity, results in energy consciousness and so on and so on until manifested: as hivemind or synchronicity. Or yah if I was on a computer this would be a read more. Cause yah. 

If I had a top it'd be lost. If I needed change, my pockets would have a hole. if there were shots fired, who knows if i'd duck. The wonder of such a world bewilders while the intrinsic behaviors of chaotic justice slip into a desperate hold on what was once new. Sometimes we draw our dreams out on paper bags and tuck them away knowing it'll fall out at some inopportune time, then we laugh halfheartedly and pick it up. Swallow down the feeling of expressing too much on paper bags that carry too many of your dreams. So when you burn your next flag you throw in that paper bag just for the hell of it. Just to see it burn. The paper bag at least would mean something. New dreams, old visions, maybe next time you draw the reflections of reality on the walls with paint. And when they burn the walls down or scrub them with khaki paint (its all the same) you run into the smoke and laugh halfheartedly. You feel the weight of it and pick it up.

tear at your throat

This chill arrogant and dry leaves me in ache a body and bones with heckle and shake yet for our selves we devolve into hell scratch at the paint it chips or grows faint no more 'beware' no more colonizing stare no more compulsion no more condescension we drink it all in from the deepest parts this battle war sunk pausing only to kiss away the embers of our most utopic dreams