another current state

A state, a state, a state, and a state. But where the state of mind I'm trying to get to.
It hinges on acceptance from the exterior.
Belief on the interior, acceptance from the exterior.
There is just mindless interaction with the world,
and then there is purposeful interaction.

I'll drag myself back to this hill, because, where else am I if I go elsewhere?
I cannot convince myself of the arguments others throw at me.
You argue at me, and I think, "gee, sure would be nice to agree"
but then, nope.

People, people, people, everywhere. Stop. Stop. And then continue.
Personal rejection of external valuations, where external valuations are a hindrance.

God dammit, but if I could just stop the world's telling me things.

A day, a day, a month, a year, and then a recoup.

It's just the moment, it's always the moment, and words come and go quickly, and whether or not they fit the moment, then whether or not they last, seem to be two different things. Two different qualities.
Then, I could complain at the moment, tell the moment that it is all wrong.
Unhappiness necessitates a certain madness.
God dammit, though. I'm building a sandcastle.

Children, on a beach. Just like that. Not my favourite way to trail into a new idea. From the obvious, to the obvious. Not my favourite way to speak. WORTH NOTING.
worth noting that I am unhappy. worth noting.

No, of course it means nothing to you. No. No, of course it means nothing to you.
I'll be aggressive, but it's childsplay. It's just a running about the everyplace.
Being good necessitates a being acceptable. No, poor.

Postulate, I postulate that she cares, somehow, and that changes the scope of things. Then, I postulate that I am wrong, and that changes it again. If she cares then I am right in proceeding to care back. If she does not care, then I am silly, or wrong, in proceeding to care. Fact.

Situation to situation, moment to moment. Always. Always. Changes. Scenery, peoples. Whoever, whatever, moods around me, then moods I'm in. Always. Always. Changes everything.

Feel like I'm flinging a flimsy blade at a solid bunch of facts. Who's fault is that? [wait] where did fault come into play? It's simply the state of affairs. Simply the state of affairs.

Nobody, everybody, some people. Then who. Candy daisy filaments and food. Filaments and food. Embrace the stupidity of statements. Embrace the lack of meaning in poetic sounding nonsense. Call valuable that which is not inherently valuable. I define. I define. I define.

I define.

it and me

Me is a bunch of hopeless conjecture. Me whack a mole. Me fly the darn. Me hate the it.

Oh, damn the incessant necessity, the interminable need to say words for it to hear, for it to understand, for it to respond to. Damn the need to gobble the charred ingle, or (meaning and) not gobble the charred ingle. Damn the need to say things in a way that will not be understood. Damn the it, for not understanding, or damn the me for needing to speak nonsense. Calling it nonsense is a digging back. Calling it nonsense is refraining from calling it "nonsense". But the me. Oh, damn it.

Intentions. Intentions. Intentions.

I am allowing myself the freedom to say things that I wish to hate. I am hating the things which I wish to allow myself the freedom to say. I am not intentionally vague. I am necessarily vague, whatever that means.

Oh, death. Prepercussions. Delicious. Delicatessen. Denial. Aftersheaval.

It or me the screwed the me the up. the

anderson

Armstrong, rather, but that's a different thought.

Andes. Andes. Andes mints. Andes mnts. Andes.

Poor settings. Poor settlings. Post settings. Labels, et al.

Shtick.

Story

Once upon a time, a starfish went swimming. The swimming starfish was swimming.

Then, things happened.
Yay, things.

Fitting in

In a mood to express, but what? What to express? In a mood to express nothing, or something.

If I go to sleep, I will wake up eventually. Tomorrow is a day, and I have to do things tomorrow. I must be an idiot.

Does anything matter? Is anything real? Why are the fingernails so long on my right hand? It causes difficulty, typing. It is because I play guitar, of course.

But why.

I might as well be drunk.

Tuesday night

I have the greatest difficulty, or the most trouble, delineating, or exposing, or going through my every thought, or else something different entirely.

I have fallen for a woman, and then I have climbed out, and might now fall asleep. I really don't have much to say to anyone, even her. I don't have desire. I don't have anything. I have anything.

I get tired of myself, but I don't like anyone else any better.

Ordinary every day emergencies

I hear sirens. It comes with the territory; there's a hospital right around the corner.

I realise how serene this environment really is, compared to what it could be, to what it might become in my lifetime. Nothing really ever happens. Big deals are made of small ones. It's just a little bit of food for thought.

To Morrow, To Work

Craft. Create. Feel emptiness. Yes. Feel it.