#7 - The Fine Line of Conciousness Ive been awake for too long now. My eyes tell me the flapping door is a person trying to slap me for invading their personal space. Creeping over my right shoulder and on into my ear is a voice that says, happiness cant be conceived in a place where we breathe, but rather the unconscious box where we plant out feet all too often. I dont care much for time, thats all. All clocks are selfish, even the hanging Felix the cat clock, that swings its eyes from side to side and its tail to the seconds tick. I prefer the passion that goes into writing for so long, proving focus in which areas I choose, whether in pitch darkness or in the light of day. So perhaps its not that Ive held myself awake for too long, but instead that Im not awake at all. That what we perceive as a conscious state, isnt reality at all, but rather the dream that made it so believable. The box that once wed step into, wed plant ourselves again.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 18:43:17 +0000
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