my writing could be

described as

a hot girl at a party

no one has ever told her

she is annoying

or untalented

her ego unchecked

so she cozies up to

some poor party-goer

and talks forever

about her pretty nothings

until he makes some excuse

to leave the scene

leading her to believe

she is merely unknown

when she’s just drunk

calling herself misunderstood

intoxicated on fumes

and bad poems

If you have experienced it, you know. A switch is forever flipped. In history it has been described as "going mad." Some consider it enlightenment, some see God, some are saved, some are lost. You aim your eyes to the sky, and step backwards--the grids and patterns of the universe suddenly tangibly visible in everything you see. It becomes apparent that consciousness was an obvious left turn in evolution--a gift, maybe, but also a sick joke--the illusion that we are unique, that we are more than temporary sex machines. The idea of self is absurdly self centered. We are all copies of copies of copies of some original spark. We put on clothes, cry, have goals and aspirations. None of it is real. It is entertainment--food for our egos. It is a frightening concept, but once you understand that you are nothing but a bundle of chance experiences and interactions with other matter, the freedom equates to the most pure bliss. Nothing matters in any feasible way, shape, or form. Walk a few steps down the road, and it becomes clear that life is beautiful. Walk further, and it becomes clear that it does not exist.

When you can actually see yourself and know who you are as a human being with all your tics and the lies you tell yourself and your habits and the lies you tell yourself about habits cause you to realize who you fundamentally are. It's like if you are a bubble of conscious thought -simply conscious thought, inorganic- and you've just been shown this stranger, but then you merge with the mind of this stranger and go through a vicious warring explosion of thought as you suddenly and violently become this person with a past and all these tics and flaws that are so obviously self destructive and mean and jealous so you want to get out but you can't cos it's… you.

So this was mostly about guilt for you; you have seen your two paths, one full, one without.

It isn't about deciding and there aren't two separate, well in your mind, worlds, you just shift between the areas

Fill your head with the trippy thoughts and you'll be doing the pretending along with all the other people.

Do ya stupid work, ya stupid laundry, and do ya stupid day.