images flicker by in alternating hues of blue and red. three-dimensional effects spring shadows out of corners. my sadness is not your sadness. and your sadness is not mine. every sadness is subjective to the point of non-entity and thus non-existent in the eyes of others. i show only one face at a time yet i know not the limits of depths of where i may or may not sink tomorrow, today, perhaps yesterday i was stuck in another mode of thought nevertheless as obscure as a bird singing frank sinatra tunes to lull the masses to another peaceful night's sleep.

everybody has their own story.

some tragic.

some beautiful.

some awe-inspiring enough to cause thousands of books to be written and read simulanteously -- tales that haunt civilation and cause countless tributes to arise and inspire new generations to never give up the fight.

i sit in my own world of fantasy. i am not sure what is real anymore. the scope of my vision may not be as deep as the true nature of the world is meant to extend but i am content to sit from afar and watch.

i listen to the undercurrents that beat against the shores of my mind.

i am not in harmony with the rest of the world -- i never will be because i have no plans to do so. i will continue my existence on the outside. my own understanding of the world i live in is enough to satiate the doubts that gnaw at my soul. i am one with the universe around me, but at the same time it might just be a universe of my own fabrication. i weave the fabric of my own objectivity. i know no thoughts outside my realm of being. i know i am nothing and i have come to accept this. i am merely here to transcribe what i see so that others will know what passed on a realm different from the apparent one.

i fill my world with phantoms -- both light and dark and some swirling and spinning in a beautiful array of colours. i would be alone without them yet probably better off without. or would i? i have fallen between the pages and down into the gutter. i am taking notes for a better day. i am consolidating all of my dreams and thoughts and conjured images into a stream of light that will issue forth and illuminate a new plain of understanding. i am not there yet. still i trek through endless deserts and forests and swamps. i am bitten, scorched, sinking all at the same time. i sometimes feel as though i won't be able to make it another step -- i want to give in to the sadness and take for the sky where i'd know no limits. but even the sky has limits and once the oxygen ends and i shrivle up and implode back into the atom from which i was conceived, i will know nothing again.

but what do i know now, if anything at all?

i resign that i am nothing and everything at the same time.

i am all that i truly will ever know, but at the same time that is nothing in the enormity of the universe.

but i am content. i need not lift my eyes from the world i have sewn.

everything around me has ceased to mean anything. i grin because i know what i know has no boundaries. tomorrow i may know more. the day after i may know less. understanding has a way of crumbling the fondest desires to ash.

sweep up the ash and mix it with water. paint the world with shadows and delight. never forget the duality behind meaning. i mean one thing yet i say another.

i am confused -- no -- i am confusion embodied.

i am spinning on my merry-go-round in the middle of the night. i go backwards. the music drones on in errie discordance. i am sitting on my wooden ostrich and laughing with not a care in the world. i watch the faces stare at me because i am alone on the merry-go-round and the operator has abondonned me leaving me to spin for eternity. i revert back to child. i am giddy and giggling and i realize all that i ever thought i knew was nothing and the true meaning of life comes down to perception.

i made myself a world out of paper and ink. finely scrawled t's and h's mark the pages. i am not alone in my vision anymore because now it has been read.

and isn't that what the search was for in the first place?

i speak not with my tongue but with my fingers.

i know am not alone because i'll always have the phantoms of imagination that dance in my eyes.

somedays it is enough to keep me moving forward. other days the loneliness of living in a world populated by only my own delusions makes me want to cry.

i reach out with my words and blindly touch because right now there's no other way to know if there's anything real beyond the distorted world i see.

"He who does not fill his world with phantoms remains alone." -Antonio Porchia

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