The recurring portion of thought theory, as I wish to mangle words and thoughts into an incomprehensible blurb
We speak in tongues that have no meaning; we speak of words that seem to make noise without illuminating. We speak in order to forget, we speak to escape thought processes; to distract us from feeling what we want to feel. In time, our words become our meaning; we believe in what we speak and the lies associated.
Yet, instead of hearing conversations, I see bubbles like those in comic books; people are like fallen comic characters on a 2D paper stock. I analyze their words, to find what they truly want to say, but my mind becomes numb, intoxicated after listening to everyone speak only what they themselves would like to hear.
And so instead I write, but I do not have a clear goal nor a direction. So I babble in thoughts, and dribble in theory about tangent subjects, which turn to be more relatable than I set out to forget. And while it is easy to be vague, when I trying to become specific, it becomes complicated to the point I wish to only write fragments. Perhaps, the broken thoughts, haphazdly jumbled together reflects the processes in the mind; perhaps, it is not supposed to be a clean-cut plan. Maybe the slick marketing slogan and fantasy advertising are anomalies, and that the mind, which is capable of much, is also bound by the fact it is a limited entity. When it strives for the sun, it gets bogged down by its wings; when it tries for perfection, it gets clipped by the limitation of our senses.
Yet, instead of hearing conversations, I see bubbles like those in comic books; people are like fallen comic characters on a 2D paper stock. I analyze their words, to find what they truly want to say, but my mind becomes numb, intoxicated after listening to everyone speak only what they themselves would like to hear.
And so instead I write, but I do not have a clear goal nor a direction. So I babble in thoughts, and dribble in theory about tangent subjects, which turn to be more relatable than I set out to forget. And while it is easy to be vague, when I trying to become specific, it becomes complicated to the point I wish to only write fragments. Perhaps, the broken thoughts, haphazdly jumbled together reflects the processes in the mind; perhaps, it is not supposed to be a clean-cut plan. Maybe the slick marketing slogan and fantasy advertising are anomalies, and that the mind, which is capable of much, is also bound by the fact it is a limited entity. When it strives for the sun, it gets bogged down by its wings; when it tries for perfection, it gets clipped by the limitation of our senses.
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