Boredom

Bored and smeared of my boredom
I have created my own wardom
To create to destroy, to destroy to recreate the same, stealing from another, I have become the dictator to the idea of the other
The other as the nether, the feather for my existence, my sustenance, my deliverance from my own mold, my own hold, my own past
My past that is so vast, I no longer see it as my past and only and a mast to crush, to flush the present through the past

To be better from the past, recreating the past and referencing the past
I have built a present that is not the present
Lost in the past, past of the past
Unable to be aware of the present, my very being has become a sword that have sworn to enslave my mind and thus every action of my mind

Time as my comfort, time as my reason for seeking security
Intertwined in this twine of time, within this predetermined time
Predetermination as my determination, my destination, I am just a procrastination, procreation of the past

Swinging from one bringing to another dinging, unable to look at my own upbringing, unable to look at my own current ringing within
Religion as my escape
Division’s as my new scape
Philosophy as my therapy
Ideology as my mythology
Reliving the others past through the books, through the scriptures, through the idea of better knowledge
Adopting, adapting the experience of the other, the other that is of the past, to avoid looking at the contents of my own mind
I now arise as the seeker of the knowledge, speaker of the disillusioned porridge of this past knowledge

With a new mask, new cask of the mask to hide behind, to abide by the past, yet reliving the past inwardly, through the comfort and security of the pre-established norms, accepted worms
I am just another short term germ seeking leisure in the pleasure building my stature, my caricature

A mind that is imprisoned, however self imposed beauty of this prision might be, is still a prison
A prism of the prison, held onto, withheld within, fed from the walls herein

My mind, divided to feed its prison’s prism, creating a hallucigenic reality, residing for eternity
Living in relativity, supporting it as actuality, bonded, bounded and confounded by the the threads of the opposites
It finds comfort of one over the other, one from the other
recreating, procreating and desecrating itself in the idea of its prism’s prize

Contained within the threads of my mind, of my own reality, making each thread my reality
and reality of this containment as an actuality, I roam the streets of my imagination and seek those that support the greed of those that disagree and agree

absorbed in the self, building a self for a self calling it a self, a pointless point, a self justification view point to justify every point within this habituated habit of the self
I escape what is, chasing my own tail as my only rail

Maybe when I realize, when I release my hold on the past, my mold of this past’s mast
I may come across that which is, that which is not of the past and includes the past, not as a hold and to behold of the unfold

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Why

The answer to every question is why
and the question to every answer is why
I speak not of “Why?” but I speak of “Why”
For this “Why?” is seeking/dependent on the answer from the other and this “why” is independent of the answer

When I live in why, fear in the why and love in the why
Maybe then I will be able to understand for myself,
the why that is questioning, the why that has the questions, the answers, the fear and the love

Maybe then, I may come across the why that is questioning the why
For in this why, I may find out the why behind the why that raised the why within the why

And in this why that raised the why, this why that is questioning the why, I may find out not an answer, to the why to the why, but a different kind of question
Rather than ending the question with an answer, I may come across the question to the question

Now maybe if I question the question that is questioning the question
I may come across the why, that is asking the why that is asking the why, that there is a why to the why to the why.

This may look like, I am trying to get to a point of origination of the why to my trained mind but it is not
So long as there is a point of origination, a root, then that root becomes my reference point, that becomes my perception, My filter, my new reality, my own confinement to find an answer within the other / a self, separate thought within the thought

For each reality I create with my perception is another illusion, for my perception is also an illusion and each illusion I create is my new reality, for my perception is my reality
For both reality and illusion are perceptions of the same mind, same thought

So now that I question the why that is questioning the why that is questioning the why, not to find an answer, not to do this or that and simply questioning why
I wonder of the state of that mind
I wonder of the state of that very thought

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Reality of Reality

The reality of reality has no reality
The selective reality of the collective reality makes my reality a reality
When the mind thinking of reality is no longer in the collective reality, I create my own selective reality based on my experience, my memory of the selective reality
And yet a different selective reality within the collective reality but of the collective reality

Those that are of the collective reality may not understand this selective reality of mine, may not belong to, may not confirm, may not affirm to me or this selective reality of mine
For it is not their selective reality
For their reality is a collective reality of memory of each other, a selective reality of the collective memory of each other

When my selective reality is different from that of the other, I call my reality a delusion, an illusion
For my reality is an illusion, only when compared to the others memory of their collective reality, trying to make it my reality

Yet when the selective realities of a different collective realities form, come together to agree upon, to confirm each other, I gather myself to stand up for this new collective reality
For I am always looking for comfort in the others memory of the reality
For I am looking for a confirmation, an affirmation from the other of my reality to makeup my own reality

For I am even afraid of my own selective reality, I am afraid to stand ALONE!
For I have only been lonely but never ALONE.
So I go after more of the same reality to stay in the collective reality and yet create a personal reality based on the collective reality

This way I go after more and more of the same collective reality, a comfortable fantasy
For I always seek some more of the more
OR I go after more and more that has no more
For then, I also seek some more of no more

And the more I seek, the more I bleak
The more I want more, the more I need more
The more may not need me but the me needs more
For the me is the mean that wants more to need more
So I make a new me that wants no more and needs no more
Only to realize that no more is also another more of some more

Maybe the some more of the no more and the more of the some more is also more of the some more
For the quality of the more may differ but there is always more

Now with no more and no some more of no more, I mar the me that wants more and needs more
With no me to me and no more of me, I have no, no more or more of more

For all realities are illusions of my mind and all illusions are realities of my mind, that is seeking, that are peaking

And maybe when the me that is seeking, peaking and creating these realities reflects back on to its own selective nature of the collective and the very collective
Maybe then I may have no I, no I am, no me, no you that is neither you, nor me, nor you and me.

Authentic

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