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thoughts on myself

Jeremy1012Jeremy1012 Posts: 7,170
edited February 2007 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
I think I like myself.
It's just an idea really... nothing is for sure.
I have pondered the subject relentlessly
for a little over 18 years,
and the funny thing is,
considering this sudden change of tack,
I have done nothing to admire of late,
I've acted and spoken as always.
I have talked to the same friends,
gone to the same places.
I haven't found God.
It occurs to me that perhaps I am God... (are we not all?)
Not that I mean anything
Maybe I mean nothing... Maybe that's what changed.
Maybe I don't HAVE to be something.
Can I not just BE?
"I remember one night at Muzdalifa with nothing but the sky overhead, I lay awake amid sleeping Muslim brothers and I learned that pilgrims from every land — every colour, and class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike — all snored in the same language"
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Jeremy1012Jeremy1012 Posts: 7,170
    reading back I realise that this is shit... but it was just some thoughts I figured might be clearer to me if I wrote them down. maybe others will relate?
    "I remember one night at Muzdalifa with nothing but the sky overhead, I lay awake amid sleeping Muslim brothers and I learned that pilgrims from every land — every colour, and class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike — all snored in the same language"
  • dontloseyourheatdontloseyourheat Posts: 483
    Not shit at all.

    By writing thoughts as they occur to you, it allows the ready to get a glimpse of your mind and thought process, which I think it really neat.
    "Don't lose your inner heat...ever" - EV 5/13/06
  • Jeremy1012Jeremy1012 Posts: 7,170
    dontloseyourheat wrote:
    Not shit at all.

    By writing thoughts as they occur to you, it allows the ready to get a glimpse of your mind and thought process, which I think it really neat.
    yeah I totally agree. Often I literally write stuff straight on the message pit. I don't like to analyse my writing too much. I guess its kind of like Keroauc's spontaneous prose. you mask the original meaning if you get caught up in choice of words etc.
    "I remember one night at Muzdalifa with nothing but the sky overhead, I lay awake amid sleeping Muslim brothers and I learned that pilgrims from every land — every colour, and class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike — all snored in the same language"
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