“The safest general characterization of the European philosophical tradition is that it consists of a series of footnotes to Plato.”
–Alfred North Whitehead

I cannot stick a thought (a stream of consciousness)

Conceptualization has become impossible. I have thoughts, but the thinking doesn’t stick. It always slides off, becomes obsolete, without reason. One moment an idea seems to fit the real; in the next, it has been replaced by a blank stare into a broken mirror. I am lost in experience, so far outside myself that I broke through the end and began again stuck within my own core. The eye of my body sees clearly. The mind of body knows lightly. The I of my body sees, knows, and actualizes clearly, lightly, and purely. But I still cannot think. I cannot speak. I cannot find meaning, I cannot make meaning, I cannot relax. I am, and I am lost. When I do find myself, it is not long before I am, again, lost. It must be because finding myself only makes sense in terms of losing myself, because I do not understand loss until I understand gain, because I do not feel pleasure until I feel pain, because… a cause… has an effect… and I… think. And yet who, or what, am I but one of the thoughts? I am a thought… No! I am The Thought. I am the thinker of thoughts, the speller of words, the knower of facts, the creator of worlds. And yet, I also know that these worlds will be destroyed. I fear that day, I dread my death… but I am just a thought. I am a thought, but am I not the space between thoughts? Are thoughts really even objects in space? I cannot think. I cannot be unless I think. I cannot think. Concepts no longer hold. I have died in many times, many places, and many dreams. I will die tonight. I will die tomorrow. I will die for good, forever, one day, just as I will be born for good, forever, one day. I die, and I am born. I die, and I am born. I go to sleep and I wake up again. I blink, and then I stare. I think, and then I feel, and then I think, and then I feel. I can’t get my thoughts to stick, and my feelings are confused. The face of love faces the beloved, but fused to love’s backside is the face of hate, struggling to escape its fate. Love faces the beloved, Hate rejects fate. Fate is love, the union of the loop. We love to hate to love to hate… It takes darkness to show the way toward the light just as a blemish reveals beauty.







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