…all sorts of truths and stories materialize.
I experience realities in my mind. I don’t have to physically experience it all in this physical form for the feeling I experience to be “real” to me.
From where do all “my” thoughts come?
I’m only the one expressing them. They aren’t even my discoveries. I’m the conduit.
Then how come the “messenger” feels the shame?
I try not to make sense. But somehow logic makes itself known even through the nonsense.
Is there such thing as true nonsense? Or is it our unique inability to understand a particular situation that makes it nonsense to ourselves?
Even the crazies out on the streets…they must be making sense somehow.
I don’t even know what I’m writing or where this is going, if anywhere at all. But I guess it’s interesting to see what my mind will spit out when I give it zero direction or purpose.
