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people do not enjoy, nor appreciate their lives. they do not, or cannot distinguish what gives life meaning, and what steals it away. People do not live life. We merely exist in it. Hidden away behind our computer screens, plugged into an ipod or texting away on our phones. our lives have no meaning, no life. we're just here.
to experience things. gain the knowledge of what it's like to be punched and to punch, to know the smell of the flowers, just to be pricked by the thorn.
people have sex
but do they really feel the soft silky skin, or the tresses of hair that flail wildly in the light, do they really taste their excitement, their own desires in their mouth? Do they really feel the muscles beneath the skin working hard, pumping faster and faster, the blood rushing everywhere in your body flushing. How you become warm when you're happy, and cold when your sad. How when you hate life, you feel nothing at all, just the hollow emptiness of your own despair, knowing that something is missing and when you finally find that missing piece of the puzzle the elation that you get. The Euphoric sensations you get when you know it's been done right, and your proud.
Do they smell the grass and feel the blades? How they bend beneath your body when you lay down to watch the clouds roll by, to gaze at the stars in the dark late night sky. And do they feel and smell the sweet due suckling to everything in the pale infant morning sky.
do you feel how the synthetic fibers in the carpeting roll and spasm beneath your bare feet like the blades of green grass? Or how the wheat fields write and churn like the open sea? How the clouds, are so free... and yet, slaves to the current of the winds? Looking so peaceful and calm, serene. But are actually wild vortexes, inert and bound by the wind. ever changing in the constant
I didn't think so.
but I don't expect anyone to think or feel or see that
I just expect people to exist.
to continue the mediocre lives they live.
our monotonous singularities that we follow every day.
take out the trash go to school go to work, learn something new earn money to survive, continue the failing ideals
And while I write this, I find it strange that while I think about it often and never write any of it down, now that I am, I taste things I haven't tasted in more than a year. I remember the taste of soft flesh, the feel of someone else's tongue on mine. The sensations of life and lust and love... How it feels to have your hair caressed, and the wiriness of another's. Hear moans and soft whispers... pleasure... it has a sound and a taste. A color and sent. How when you feel like you just can't take it anymore and yet it's never going to happen. How colors flash before your eyes
How it feels to just loose all hope in existence. How life can just drop away from you like the floors of a stage thrusting you into another act of our lives. How time even short, can feel like ages, and add years to you. How experience works.
It's funny how the body works, it remembers things, textures, flavors, sights, softness, roughness, sounds scents... it remembers the heat of life, and the hollowness of death.
And we feel all these things on a daily basis... But none of it registers... We can't take that kind of information being processed. We would become recluse to the world from all that information. Hide away forever under the cold dresses of life and how we couldn't take a single drop of water, let a lone an entire rain storm.
How that cloud is weeping, but weeping for what? It's breached maximum capacity and now releasing the exes.

Does anyone feel at all, what I feel, and do I feel what you feel? No one does... We all feel similar things, but each and everyone of use receives pain and pleasure differently, none of us will ever fully understand another's plight. Another's success... We don't feel that pride of their promotion, we feel similar things to it, but it will never be the same feeling.

I can't keep writing...
It's hurting now...
I'm done.
Not like any of you are going to read this.
I just wrote it for myself, to look back at.
it's just my musings on life. they don't matter to you. Any of you, they talk about what you deny. That you don't live, but just...




exist

No.
I'm not living, I'm barely existing.
But, I never claimed to live. Considering that I compare myself to a machine all the time. What I claimed to be doing, is observing life. And what I see is just existence. I see the little man hidden away behind a cubicle, just another animal in another environment. A sick animal unaware of it's surroundings.
I've had nothing to do, and no one to talk to in the past month and a half, aside from my family, and the faceless masses of cyberspace. But I've been watching people. Slinking about hidden behind my vale of inconspicuousness, watched people work, eat, drive, ignore the things around them.
But I've also taken in my surroundings as well.
What I took for silence when I first moved here, in the past month, has become what I spoke of in a way. I hear the trains long away, the highway a mile off. Cows in the distance, the bugs, the wind, the trees groaning their tales beyond my time here. But I'm not living, I'm still just existing.

No, but yes that is where we are heading.


There are ugly actors and actresses too, they just don't get the good parts.


That's because that statement is correct 90% of the time.
And when some people are left to their own devices and thoughts, they don't like the ones they get. Either ashamed, disgusted, or frightened by their thoughts. And then there are people who are unaffected by that.


Did I ever say I was not ignorant?

And thank you for combating my stance on what I said.