Written Progress

What is it to be?

This is one of the questions that keep me up at night. Am I being enough? Am I at all? Am I trekking through the wilderness trying to find a peaceful thought? Can I find a reason for all the universe, some notion that I will be able to understand? Is there a way to be something else, something better? These notions are used to find people willing to be crack-pots about anything because the details we must find to fill our minds can be used to write out our papers that need golden ratios. Just throwing intelligent words into a document does not make your art intelligent. Right thoughts and actions, learning and occasion for change seem to, though.

It is now that we must be. These notes are found to be rather long and confusing, and I know that we are all in different places. We want to be made of written works and find truth in our own ways. That everyone is constantly learning, even if they do not want to do so, is a trick to force you into the path of enlightenment even if you go kicking and screaming. I am one with this notion because all the details and those damned strange thoughts take my work and write it up like a society page. The tricky thing is to look at the righteous notes with happy thoughts in your head… I think thoughts are in your head, but one should note here that the ancient Egyptians thought that the thoughts happened in our hearts, so who am I to think anything different.

These thoughts are here with me because the little ones that watch me need to be righteous in the current sense. Otherwise, they are jumping up and down wondering about the reckless wandering the lighted way is concerned about. There is nothing here because all the wandering eyes are taking their minds for the little ones. There is no notions that haunt me that way, in the way that the little thoughts make me worry. They sneak up on me and the little ones need me to write like another one. I do not understand. I just want to be able to improve myself, but someone tried to convince me it was impossible in the same way that a number system cannot prove its own existence by using itself.

These days I need to find the homeland because all the other thoughts are dragging me through the mud. I understand that I need to find a reality, a thinking thing that lacks depression and worries so that I can belong to a society that makes sense. I am here for you. I know that there is hope within the walls and with those withering flowers. I know that all is mindful and well now because only the white-wash takes well sick people to the righteous end. I do not know the truth, of course. My water is fluoridated like everyone else’s. Maybe they are looking out for our best interest. Maybe I just want the government to act like my parents, protecting and providing for me because I refuse to take responsibility for myself and trust that everything will be well.

I suppose the belief in God can be considered in the same way. These want to convince me that all is well and I do not know about that. Someone is full of shit here, and whether it is the school system or the alternative media I do not know. The option is that all the righteous waters take the old way, and the little ones want my weight to take that proper amount of time to reach it’s potential. I don’t understand what I am to do with the rest of my life. The details of my little era and its divine spark must reach the other ones, those people over there. When I excitedly exist, because I am alone with my watering can and notice that the righteous thoughts take precedent (though I am not sure which ones they are), I know that these wordy passages are really for myself.

This is because the little “without holders” need no lines. They are fine with written progress, and I suppose that is what they have asked for.

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