It's hard to decide what's worth sharing
&what's worth keeping private
it seems like the gradient between what's magical and what's trite is ever narrowing
it seems like I spend a lot of time defining things to myself, because it's hard to trust the world with what's so clearly true. & that's (at least) a mildly psychotic understanding.
it seems like whatever's between you and me (&I mean all of you) is the same as what's between you and you. or me and me.
it seems like these careful stylings of ego and lust only ever grow less calculated
&holy fuck am I sick of it.
listen:
we've got ideas that we can't express
&I'm not just talking gaia & synchronicity
I'm talking work and currency, numbers & geometry, the psychedelic experience and fucking, cannabis and artwork, the itch of all itches.
I'd fuck rampaging goat to know what's really on your mind
but the issue seems to be nobody cares what's on their mind.
we've all shed plenty of shallow words
I'm going into mathematics.