Against my delusions.
There is the creature that says atop, on top, and it says in song like the whistle of flowers and birds. I am not to say that I've lost it, but I may have lost something which is in the quality of desire. This is not an off-shoot, I am like the drifting sand. There is a problem evidently, but the problem relies on the basis that I am not crazy enough to sustain the expelling of diarrhea. I don't understand what I should do, and my head is light, and it's painful to think about anything. The desire to communicate is halted, but there is a desire to say things, how is that possible? Meaning is a curse that has found its way into my framework.
Fighting against meaning is a pointless task, well, it is unavoidable that meaning must exist, that is correct; in the eyes of the receptor meaning is absolute. Otherhandely, the meaning of the hermit is only part of the inside world. The power of communication has determined the way in which it shall operate, under it there is the creation of communication aesthetics. Now that my desire for it slowly vanishes, and I understand that I exist in the possibility —I existed in possibility, perhaps it is betters to say that I now exist in the impossibility—, when I focus on the desire to say; it feels like aesthetics are worse, yet I cannot have the drive towards that goal: the point by which I can say for certain that this is understandable, it is not satisfactory.
It is insufficient... Is this a problem with perfectionism? Perhaps I simply have no criteria to cast judgment, but instinctively it feels wrong. I know it is possible to some degree, but it seems like the shifting makes it seem like it is the necessary. I have yet to receive a message from God or Aliens. So there's nothing strange about my condition, but I feel like I have brain damage.
Well, this is against my delusions, so I know I am perfectly fine. Reading back this text, I don't notice that many differences with the way I usually write, except a couple of quirks here and there. I made this post to give myself confidence back or kill me in the process, there is no necessity for it being the same, it just has to be pleasing in concordance to the act of saying things and then reading them again. If it is or isn't experimental, if it is proper, if it is fiction or reality — all of those things depend on the reader. So in the end, maybe it's all in my head.
Sorry for the short post, I am currently writing a post for my website, so this was just a small escapade. If you think I am making less sense than usual then... yeah, maybe... You can already start casting judgment on the quality of the post which has yet to be released. I haven't been feeling the greatest, but I've still got plans and things to do.