Nightmares & Dreamscapes
Relentlessness, True love and AI hell
There has been a tilling of my inner landscape, and in that preparation for new life, I’ve turned laconic. This growing silence feels sempiternal; a mélange of what was and what yet shall be spares no effort to bind me into submission.
Past amusements no longer hold the same intrigue. Books have been the only constant in a sea of unfamiliar life waves crashing against me.
I am changing, and rather than patiently waiting for the bud to unfurl its final form, I thrash and fight its divine method of madness.
Buddha, I am not.
My futile attempts to rush the process provoke laughter from the Gods and Ancestors. The hubris! As if I alone could rush my internal spring. I feel foolish (rightfully so). If I were a smidge more inexperienced, my erubescence would be blinding.
So much growth. So much triumph and failure.
To the outside eye, to those who know the whole story, my life reads fantastical—a roman à clef of epic proportions.
Head shakes, accompanied by, You’ve lived so many lives, is often remarked.
Even I sit back in awe from all that has transpired. How is this my life?
I am so very tired of growing, of all the knowing. It’s as if there is this raging fire within me that will not dampen. It feeds on knowledge, experience, and moving forward. It heeds a higher calling, one that I am not yet gifted to understand or just unwilling to see out of contemptuous exhaustion.
I feel I am on the precipice of collapsing. The final fall where I will stay down, but the concluding plummet never arrives. This relentlessness shocks and impresses me; no one can ever say I’m a quitter.
Life goes on, and so shall I…even when I’m kicking and screaming against it.
I am so in love with Joe, I had a nightmare I was being mean to him.