أَعُوذُ بِٱللَّهِ مِنَ ٱلشَّيۡطَٰنِ ٱلرَّجِيمِ، بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

 

 

 

 is truth a boulder or a wing? i've heard it said that it can free, but though i keep looking for it, freedom still evades my grasp, like catching air barehanded without any other means. wish at times i could be anything other than what i am, questions always building, rising like a tide powered by a storm the size of life, but there's always never enough answers, levees always breaking and broken, sandbags thrown out the way as if they were toys for toddlers, not mechanisms intended to buffer the living from nature. fam keep trying to put in place what they think will bring me "happiness", not realizing how long ago He kept it from me, since the day i sought to be better than i was, choosing a path for Eternity as my end. this world and its sociality, have nothing and nadda to do with me, the most nomadic nomad ever i would guess, always trying to be convinced he's sitting in the lap of luxury when all his eyes tell him is that he's stranded in a desert, absent his beacons, his oceans, an island surrounded by salty truths that he tries swallowing no matter how much their bitterness burns as true. they tell me my Gift is coming, arriving, provision for this life, so it might appear to seem, but the Red Pill remains what i'm taking, still, saturated by distance, some days can turn off the switch be a little less than human, a toast for the automatons! the dead or dying masquerading as living, machinery i can be, got wires enough to connect the poles of current, perhaps for a second need no emotion, no resonance...just for a second.