Showing posts with label Stream of Consciousness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stream of Consciousness. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Coincidence

OK . . . there's definitely been a glich in the Matrix . . .

Howo do you process a seemingly endless need to go back to the beginning . . . with life seemingly falling backwards through time to a certain time . . .

As if this were Quantum Leap but the life I time travel through, linearly at that, was mine?

Kinda freaky, right . . . but that's the best way I can explain it . . .

This is all getting really cerebreal . . . really quick . . . but I kinda like it . . .

So what is the right action now?

What 's the next move?

How do I stay perfect?

Truth is . . .

There is no right action . . .

There is no next move . . .

You merely do not doing.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

" . . . and all faces are the same . . ." Part II

So yeah . . .

I'm at work and like always, I was looking at people's faces . . . and they all looked the same . . .

The whole time . . . I was like, "I know that person . . . that's my friend . . . over there, over here . . ."

Anyway, I don't know why I said that but I didn't say it out loud . . .

So yeah . . .

Question: If you asked someone a question, would you look for the next person around and ask the same question without receiving an answer from the first?

This lady at work did . . . not knowing that coffee filters are in the coffee aisle . . .

It makes sense to me . . . and I found them . . .

I assumed she looked, she had coffee in her hand . . . and she said she couldn't find them . . .

I found them in the coffee aisle . . .

Makes sense to me . . .

It's like having a conversation with someone who just talks and never lets you interject by increasing their volume and continuing as though you never spoke at all . . .

It's like not talking about what you love unless you're asked a specific question . . .

It's like a face without a name or a name without a face . . .


I have no idea why I just said that . . . but it wasn't out loud . . .


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