Ramblings of an Inner Mad Man

Uninhibited boredom leads to introspective thoughts which lead to bouts with depression.

Experiences I should have experienced but will never experience because of experience in things no one should experience.

Should've turns into would've turn into could've turn into didn't do and back again on the circle that is procrastination. Which is the only thing that it does productively.

Phone calls made unanswered and made again but still remain unanswered causing dates to fall from the calender tree like stars that really are just balls of rock and ice from Heaven's refrigerator.

Prophetic thoughts from the mind of a child who fails to learn to write them down because there is no pencil and only paper around.

A riddle this is. A riddle of madness. Logic and illogic, sane and insane, able and unable, polar and union, different and similar, alike and dislike.

Backwards, forwards, up, and down. They're all the same thing: directions!

Ah, but where to go? Directions have no significents without a destination. You cannot know where to go if you do not look at where you are going because you do not know where to look or how to find it.

Though you have eyes, you cannot see. Though you have ears, you cannot hear.

Holy words. But what is so wholesome about these words? Written before now in a very long time ago. Does that make them sacred? Does age make value to things of no value like words?

Words have no value. If they did, we wouldn't be giving them out to everyone who can read or see or listen or understand. Monetary gain is none. Special quality is none.

None is none and all is the same with nothing being everything and all of this together is normal insanity through which contradictions leads the way towards damnation and salvation as if in a three-legged race against the one-legged man that won the ass-kicking contest.

The pretty pink dog dances with a white cat in overalls and a bow while the dragon flies with a monkey sitting on a cloud over purple mountains shooting rockets with red glares, and all this is digital. It's real to us but fake to us, and we call it reality.

What we call fantasy is not but reality exaggerated to the point of ridiculous commodification through the moving picture as displayed upside-down in the back of our minds in a dark room where the race of Man go to become the living dead for two hours as they feast on styrofoam and wax.

There is no fantasy when words and images can make tangible intangibles and expand while contracting a focus so tight it is broad in scope but not by content.

Birds sing, flies buzz, dogs bark, but silent thoughts make a symphony that plays enterally muted by bone and flesh and the proper order of society. Even these things we cannot control. We cannot fight the noise or the silence by means of immediate satisfaction. Because they'll just start back up again in five minutes!

To live is to act upon emotion and feelings of irrational and spontaneity to the point where chaos replaces order and order because anarchy. The rationalists are right and wrong while the Dadaists are normal and sane and the Modernists are insane and too cheap to come up with a different material for a metal box that ultimately has been recycled to produce cell phones for their clients who admired their stupidity.

...

Ah, peace. So beautiful this idea and feeling, but it is nothing but death. To be at peace, to have peace, Peace on Earth and Good Will towards Men! That's a death wish! Conflict shall always be and has always been. A competition of dominance by incompetence and then won out by those of favor and charm, and they are not worthy to lead because of faults that blind them to their own faults unless someone points them out.

But reason is never good enough or bad enough or indifferent enough or correct enough or incorrect enough. A reason without intent is nothing more than manipulation misguided. A smile means friendship to everyone but a gorilla who sees it as an act of aggression and would soon destroy your bones unless he is sexually attracted to your screaming for help from on top of the world's tallest structure.

A primitive lust amplified through nothing more than fantasy constructed out of depression as a result of being unable or unwilling to combat the powers of boredom.