Who is what is where is when? When all is not but everything now, and nothing that shouldn't exist doesn't, and everything that might have been hangs in the balance as if it can but can't and will but will never be. Who should I trust and who is a shadow? I don't need the pity or the strife, just your name "and your word that it's the one I need." I do not now where or when. Perhaps there is nothing in this world but seas of uncertainties, and nothing is indeed everything, because everything is nothing, and if we need everything, we consequently need nothing. If we have nothing we have everything and vice versa. But having nothing therefore everything therefore nothing is not as fun as having nothing therefore everything therefore nothing therefore everything.
And yet, I just can't help but wonder - is my nothing everything?
Or the fact that i make nothing out of something after making something out of nothing at all important? Is this lack within going to turn bountiful?
Is this friend that is mine, mine? And the one that isn't lost to the winds?
Am i going to be turning in this world, this glorified grave for the rest of my life?
Or is it a glorified grave?
Is this life before life?
Or is it the death before life?
Who are you ?
Who Are you?
Are you just the mirage you affirm you are everytime you slip through the grasp of here and now and away into your own life? Are you the intangible, yet real image of something that isn't but lives as if it is? Of something that guarantees it exists by existing, but refutes that wholeness of it's own being by being what it is that is not what it guarantees?
Who are you? Are? Are you the thing i've been searching for, Mine? Are you the reason I'm still sane. There have been endless bandages to my endless questions, and you have yet to slip away. I don't know who you are, only that I'm greatful that every step I take toward and away is mirrored by yours in a peculiar dance, but the first soothing and perfectl dance I've taken part in for years. I don't know who you are, but I can still be grateful that you're here, because the world turns and spins and I fall to the ground, and scrape skin on the asphalt wondering why there's nothing to this trembling, swerving, slipping ground but blood and tears and laughter and uncertainty.
And yet, blood and tears and laughter bind as closely as uncertainty does not. There are parts of me that will not be lost to my violent trimming and tweaking and tucking and shaping. Some things will stay a part of me, so some people will no matter what. I don't know who you are? Who are you?
I sing to nothing, when there is nothing here but me, and I sing of the somethings that are inside of me, but the nothing I sing to is filled with the somethings of your imaginary faces. Each song is a question, not an answer, and i know that I should not be singing to the nothing somethings that are your imaginary faces, but speaking to the something nothings that are your faces, and getting answers instead of dying with questions.
So many questions. So much to ask you all.
Sometimes I'm such a baby, forgetting what is and is not, but not even forgetting. I'm not forgetting, just spinning helplessly away from everyone, because i don't know how to do this, or how to say that, or how to be this, or how to be that, or what you expect me say, or how i can say this or that or anything. Not knowing how to speak, even comfort? Everything is a guessing game - pulling those strings, pulling these. Hoping, praying that you all understand what I'm attempting to communicate. I can get most any response. I can wheedle and beg and cry and sing and pout and scream and act and play pretend, but that is not why i'm here. Because the only way to live through my guessing game is by playing pretend. Pretending i know what I'm doing. I float through the world uncertainly, mimicking the gestures that I recognize, testing what they mean. Some of them become my own, but some of them can't, not until I've grown past this babyhood. This stage of not knowing. I am an alien not because of my species or lineage or race or birth, but because I don't know. I don't know almost anything.
Every new taste, every new discovery is exactly that. How can i not wonder at this new taste, or that new idea, or that hug, or that way of sleeping, or this way of yelling, or that type of music? If everything is new, how can i not fall over my own steps and yours trying to figure out how to walk. I'm trying to learn how to walk.
I'm sorry i've tripped so much and pulled you down with me. I needed your hand to help me up and back to my feet. I can't walk yet, but I can stumble. Maybe now you can stand farther away, and wheedle from a distance to get me to stumble into walking farther before falling flat on my face. Eventually maybe I'll be able to walk and laugh and run. i can giggle and stumble and crawl, but who - besides Mine - Would accept someone who crawls to places instead of walking? And i'd rather learn how to laugh and dance and run than stumble forever. The price to pay for those is high, but I have payed it so far, and I will pay it to learn. Maybe like jumping from a swing, after the first four hundred half-fatal and horribly clumsy/awkward/just plain bad attempts, i'll eventually be able to run through it all gracefully. Hahaha, but will you still be there to see? I'm not so sure. And yet life is life, and the time that was always exists right beside us. So whether you are or aren't, you have been, therefore always will be there in Time.
Perhaps more of you understand what i don't yet - the way the world twists and spins. I'll close my eyes and stumble, grinning, into my next face-plant. With luck it will be extremely entertaining for everyone who watches.
And yet, I just can't help but wonder - is my nothing everything?
Or the fact that i make nothing out of something after making something out of nothing at all important? Is this lack within going to turn bountiful?
Is this friend that is mine, mine? And the one that isn't lost to the winds?
Am i going to be turning in this world, this glorified grave for the rest of my life?
Or is it a glorified grave?
Is this life before life?
Or is it the death before life?
Who are you ?
Who Are you?
Are you just the mirage you affirm you are everytime you slip through the grasp of here and now and away into your own life? Are you the intangible, yet real image of something that isn't but lives as if it is? Of something that guarantees it exists by existing, but refutes that wholeness of it's own being by being what it is that is not what it guarantees?
Who are you? Are? Are you the thing i've been searching for, Mine? Are you the reason I'm still sane. There have been endless bandages to my endless questions, and you have yet to slip away. I don't know who you are, only that I'm greatful that every step I take toward and away is mirrored by yours in a peculiar dance, but the first soothing and perfectl dance I've taken part in for years. I don't know who you are, but I can still be grateful that you're here, because the world turns and spins and I fall to the ground, and scrape skin on the asphalt wondering why there's nothing to this trembling, swerving, slipping ground but blood and tears and laughter and uncertainty.
And yet, blood and tears and laughter bind as closely as uncertainty does not. There are parts of me that will not be lost to my violent trimming and tweaking and tucking and shaping. Some things will stay a part of me, so some people will no matter what. I don't know who you are? Who are you?
I sing to nothing, when there is nothing here but me, and I sing of the somethings that are inside of me, but the nothing I sing to is filled with the somethings of your imaginary faces. Each song is a question, not an answer, and i know that I should not be singing to the nothing somethings that are your imaginary faces, but speaking to the something nothings that are your faces, and getting answers instead of dying with questions.
So many questions. So much to ask you all.
Sometimes I'm such a baby, forgetting what is and is not, but not even forgetting. I'm not forgetting, just spinning helplessly away from everyone, because i don't know how to do this, or how to say that, or how to be this, or how to be that, or what you expect me say, or how i can say this or that or anything. Not knowing how to speak, even comfort? Everything is a guessing game - pulling those strings, pulling these. Hoping, praying that you all understand what I'm attempting to communicate. I can get most any response. I can wheedle and beg and cry and sing and pout and scream and act and play pretend, but that is not why i'm here. Because the only way to live through my guessing game is by playing pretend. Pretending i know what I'm doing. I float through the world uncertainly, mimicking the gestures that I recognize, testing what they mean. Some of them become my own, but some of them can't, not until I've grown past this babyhood. This stage of not knowing. I am an alien not because of my species or lineage or race or birth, but because I don't know. I don't know almost anything.
Every new taste, every new discovery is exactly that. How can i not wonder at this new taste, or that new idea, or that hug, or that way of sleeping, or this way of yelling, or that type of music? If everything is new, how can i not fall over my own steps and yours trying to figure out how to walk. I'm trying to learn how to walk.
I'm sorry i've tripped so much and pulled you down with me. I needed your hand to help me up and back to my feet. I can't walk yet, but I can stumble. Maybe now you can stand farther away, and wheedle from a distance to get me to stumble into walking farther before falling flat on my face. Eventually maybe I'll be able to walk and laugh and run. i can giggle and stumble and crawl, but who - besides Mine - Would accept someone who crawls to places instead of walking? And i'd rather learn how to laugh and dance and run than stumble forever. The price to pay for those is high, but I have payed it so far, and I will pay it to learn. Maybe like jumping from a swing, after the first four hundred half-fatal and horribly clumsy/awkward/just plain bad attempts, i'll eventually be able to run through it all gracefully. Hahaha, but will you still be there to see? I'm not so sure. And yet life is life, and the time that was always exists right beside us. So whether you are or aren't, you have been, therefore always will be there in Time.
Perhaps more of you understand what i don't yet - the way the world twists and spins. I'll close my eyes and stumble, grinning, into my next face-plant. With luck it will be extremely entertaining for everyone who watches.
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