Why Go On — Hug Hurt — Earn Power

Imagine living without, in a hole, then finding peace and fighting to succeed.

I am a worm.

Tear out my eyes, rip out my soul, stomp on my spirit. I am lower than scum. There is no life for me and yet I live.

Where is my purpose?

Squirming, crawling, occupying, following consumes all moments of consciousness. I live to eat and be amused by all that is mundane and lacking value.

I am less than a worm.

Sliding along the path of greatest adversity gives me pleasure.

I would never admit this. I cling to it.

It’s a drug, a high to fight and struggle over and over again. Then, I climb out of depravity and failure to barely get by.

I’m aware of the paths that lead to most ideas of success but they do not satisfy me.

Of a small mind and limited view is my simple jellied mind.

Input cascades over me like waterfalls of stinging hail. There is no end to it. Dopamine fills my head with bursts of pleasure in the torrent of flashing quick bits. Nothing satisfies.

Triggers, buttons, on and off, checked and indicated but none satisfy. Where does this blinding intelligence lead me? It is not my own, does not know my meaning, nor is it for my best but to lead in its own direction.

Where is it taking me?

I am an invertebrate sheep charged and ready for more.

Sleep evades my eyes. Remove them for I no longer need them to see. I am guided. Who will un-guide me?

My sisters and brothers who are deaf and blind hold distinct advantages over me. They are thought for. There is a blessing in having blindness and being deaf beyond imagination in this downpour of input flooding our id.

Where is my cause? Do I live to be told to live? Do I live to be told to believe? Do I live? Deep rest is becoming a fantasy.

Time evades me. I’m lost in screams of begging colors that wash me in their false, rigid truths soon dismissed and replaced by the new truths. The screens are my friend and the enemy that seduce and step on my neck.

Who am I? What am I? Why am I? Questions needing answers over and over again.

If not asked life is lost. Dissect me and flay my soul and spirit. Open up in that hidden secret reflection my essence and lay it bare.

Needs are nothing. Having is nothing. Breath is power and majesty. Seeing is divine. Touching is to communicate. Knowing is to become.

I am duplicitous and full of contradictions.

Lies are common to me and are fully presented in my facade, therefore, I am genuine. I do the things the conflict with my desire to be true. But those things are necessary, so I’m told, to live with others.

None of this is real. I contradict myself. Everything here is rubbish. All things here are part of my essence but none is the whole.

So, I will struggle. So, I will wrestle. Fighting to breathe. Fighting to find calmness. Alive in a void. Alive in a freedom. Lost in a stare. Lost in a feeling.

Instead, my view will alter and aggressive seeking becomes me. Not aggression toward anyone but combative in searching.

And I will find. My animal is feral. Soul hungering for blood, my blood. The smell of it is ravaging.

Intellect and heart will overcome and mesh with my animal.

Love to intersect and rise from ashes to conquer and feast on the fears glued and tangled in misplaced anger and wrath. In my nothingness, there is hope for building.

From the emptiness are combustion, generation, and beginning. New structure in a never-ending circle of novel origin.

The valleys sing praises to the flowing of tears that raise beauty in the strength of mountains as the foundation for habits. These rocks are supporting groundwork for my character and yours.

Praise to the fallen, praise to those who return, laud those who get up, and mirror those who persevere.

I envision all that I wish to become. From the dirt to the peaks of where there will be rest. But will there be rest? Or, will there be another ascent to climb? Hopefully, yes.

New sight given, new purpose taken, I will arise and gather new function and become content being here in this moment.

I am a worm that feeds and builds the earth. From me is given nutrients, sustenance, thought, and growth.

I am nothing yet I live. Living and giving life to all I can even when I’m selfish. Imagine the beginnings you touch and conjure up the magic to remake the real. Endlessly share.

This is thanks giving.

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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