Quite possibly the weirdest thing I’ve ever written. It was in essay writing class—I was sitting in front of a computer really tired, with no idea of what to write about. So I just started writing… and somehow, I think I fell asleep! Listening to the soothing whirring of the a/c above my head… like on an airplane, the ambient sounds faded away… I could tell that I was still typing, but I had no idea what I was writing. Then, stupid teacher comes around waking me up, and I find all this stuff on the screen. Try to see past the typos.

Anyway, here it is! Weirdness, no? (all typos are as written)


Existebnce, what is that Being? Or living? Or merely holding a moment in time and s[ace as my own, as MINE, like the owner of a zoo. Yet the animals of the zoo know of now owner. They know what they want and they know what keeps them from it. SO… ther are indeed not controlled by the powers…

SO peaceful the air is…

On physics. And destiry. And other things that we care about.

I can hear the air blowing up above me, like the soothing hum of an airplame They don’t know what tehjre is to hear, and I can already feel my consciousness see[ping away to darkness. I’ve been writing for a while, yet I feel so tired. The end feels near, and I have no idea how close it truly is I don’t even know what I’m writing anynorem, the words flow blindly, thoughtless ly, with a grae that can be only found in dreams. The words are endless, the thoughts are empty, but th spirit is full of existence… and the hum continues,I switch positions, hoping for a continuation of this halfawake/half asleep state, knowing that no good things last forever. Indeed   the concept of eternity was powerful confusing. Most people hjad no idea of such a concept that any attempt to exploain the orbiting of the shuttlee around the war requires you to teach a basic lessong on astrophsysics as well.

Ahh… a brief moment punctuated bty the state of awakenness. Evil that statei s. It knows of no purpose in this world, and feels that its own conscious desires are more important that the true desires found within the soul. I am awake, I am aasleep, itdoens’t matter, but the soul continues to eschew the very fabric of my purpose. What am I saying> It may make no sense at all to the people of the awaking world, but I know that I have qa purpose within my own world. I’m writing blindkyl now, not knowoing where I’m going but hoping fto find that holy grail… or so the cons ciousness does say. I the true self within the laysres and cakes of consciousness and other juink desire a much more expansive freedom, and search the universe with a much higher [purpose, led by a much higher cause. Why do I write? As far as the conscious mind would care, for no reason. It won’t uinderstnad the intricacies of mere writing, the potency of the word that means none other than itself—the allusions to the core of virtual existence without meaning, I contuinue to write with the idea tha it is worth something. It’s a matter of faith—believing in the puirposeless, believing in what wr cannot see with our own eytes or understanding. The heart’s desire unleashed in the most primordial form of expression, which happens to be not writing, but a scream of thoughts across a world of nonsense. It demands order, yet desires chaos. The human, what an ironic being. Desires and values so far aparty. Hypoctritical and yet so perfectly human,. Expected but not-desired. hopinh fpr the best. Expecting the worst.I may see cnonesense within the borders of the human mind, btu I desire a purpose sfo mfar fgreater that I cannot see my own purpose.

Blind I am… writing solely with theidea of writing. Writing something, nothing, and everything at once, people don’t understand I don’;t even understand, but I trust. And I desire only what my instincts desire. I have no freakin idea what im writing anymore, I’m just wtirring for that ever purpose\

Listen to what I’m writing. I only mean to help your ungu8ided purpose. What do you need?