Strange Scisscor

When you want with all your heart to be creative, to be able to express what you can't in words,


and the cruelty of your mind enshrouds you, Refusing to implant ideas upon a medium.

Pen in cup, brush in water, paint in jars, graphite in sharpeners.

You stare and you stare, but inability to choose envelopes.

Futile it seems, strange to even think of trying.

But necessity wins. Thinking it is possible gives hope, and thus, begin.

Starting well, brush slips, strange occurrence. Wanting only to express, maybe the mind isn't ready to.

It shouts out in action that it refuses to conform to what you believe it should.

The mind doesn't have a master? How can it know.

A fully conscientious self would try to work together.

The mind is only trying to show, that what the subconscious is refusing to let the conscious aware of,

it is not ready for.

Don't destroy yourself because you want to accept what you know.

Want is different than capable.

Time and patience are required to unlock the steel wedge preventing ability.

But when a refute forms, force-able entry is deemed necessary, further ignorance is deemed hazardous...

Just once, to be understood.

a slice of mind falls away.

Into nonexistence, it never was, because memory no longer persists.

But the mind knows a part of it is irrevocably gone, inconceivably fallen to the abyss of it's own demise,

destruction of self permits.

So simple yet so difficult to comprehend.

The dichotomy of keeping both from ripping apart at the epicenter of creation, and destroying the greatest....creation of all...existence, is the lowest depiction of humanity.

Brain is only a word describing the organ that is run by higher processes.

Consciousness is only a word enclosing the perception of the reality of present existence.

Subconsciousness....the nexus of imperceptibility.

Humanity labels the mind as both, the brain as encompassing.

Either is nigh.

Nil.

Caput.

They are not matter, forms that take up space in the old elementary explanation of reality.

You can't bottle self.

Thoughts cannot be liquefied and stored at subzero temperatures for future gander.

They are a form of energy, thought, it exists everywhere.

Our thoughts give substance, shape, and composition to matter-ized objects.

What the mirror reflects to our retinas, is a residual self image.

Hardwired into our brain, the sub delves into the information, relays it to consciousness and reflects.

Unaware can we be.

These words are thoughts, placed in a digital world, an alternate reality.

And still the canvas seems empty.






But full of vivacity is it. Full of thoughts, that haven't been formed. Full of them that all have been.