oh senior thesis
where have you gone? your belly is hungry, your mouth is dry, your brain is weak. your actual existence is not necessary, but oh what an accomplishment you are. the mere fact that you show your face to me makes me desire your blood. when i stare into your eyes makes me desire your passion. what can a lonely reptile do but want to create perfection. since when does an indifference and misunderstanding of technology inhibit such creativity. it nearly boils my organs to have such fingers on my soul and yet no control over which muscles they massage. 'tis a wily beast, this idea of theosophy, just ask madame blavatsky, but perhaps a more controlled idea in a focused thesis will do quite nicely. the coquettish idea of flirting with ideas and the mind struggles in my brain, and yet is not even of my brain; more having to do with universal truths and interrupting human nature for a single visit to its home norsouweseast of here. it dawns on me to just pick one, perhaps the web in your brain storms through the forest of your mind before finding a single clearing in which to lie down and die, or live if the occasion calls for it. but in the endless laws of nature, the single clearing in the forest of your mind used to be a pond, it used to be a marsh, it used to be a lake, it used to be an ocean.
as we get older our brain cells decrease, yet our memories become sharper.
as the vast ocean of information in your brain fills in to become a swamp surrounded by forest, does the information become condensed as well? what information does the surrounding forest hold in its bark and leaves? is it all the information you used to have? is it storing all of it for you so when you die it can be released with you? because you cannot get it back, the forest grows and becomes older and wiser, but you remain liquified, a mind always churning with information. the trees in the forest forever hold your forgotten thoughts, your stored emotions, your lost truths. what happens to us? what happens to our mind? the water provides no safety for our thoughts. how does our memory become so sharp, so stringent, so metallic, but it becomes so small, so so small.
it must get so condensed, so packed tightly wound up in threads, that your mind when you get older weighs a ton.
where have you gone? your belly is hungry, your mouth is dry, your brain is weak. your actual existence is not necessary, but oh what an accomplishment you are. the mere fact that you show your face to me makes me desire your blood. when i stare into your eyes makes me desire your passion. what can a lonely reptile do but want to create perfection. since when does an indifference and misunderstanding of technology inhibit such creativity. it nearly boils my organs to have such fingers on my soul and yet no control over which muscles they massage. 'tis a wily beast, this idea of theosophy, just ask madame blavatsky, but perhaps a more controlled idea in a focused thesis will do quite nicely. the coquettish idea of flirting with ideas and the mind struggles in my brain, and yet is not even of my brain; more having to do with universal truths and interrupting human nature for a single visit to its home norsouweseast of here. it dawns on me to just pick one, perhaps the web in your brain storms through the forest of your mind before finding a single clearing in which to lie down and die, or live if the occasion calls for it. but in the endless laws of nature, the single clearing in the forest of your mind used to be a pond, it used to be a marsh, it used to be a lake, it used to be an ocean.
as we get older our brain cells decrease, yet our memories become sharper.
as the vast ocean of information in your brain fills in to become a swamp surrounded by forest, does the information become condensed as well? what information does the surrounding forest hold in its bark and leaves? is it all the information you used to have? is it storing all of it for you so when you die it can be released with you? because you cannot get it back, the forest grows and becomes older and wiser, but you remain liquified, a mind always churning with information. the trees in the forest forever hold your forgotten thoughts, your stored emotions, your lost truths. what happens to us? what happens to our mind? the water provides no safety for our thoughts. how does our memory become so sharp, so stringent, so metallic, but it becomes so small, so so small.
it must get so condensed, so packed tightly wound up in threads, that your mind when you get older weighs a ton.
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