Gah

I have a constant disturbance of my routines of being. I feel stuck in a quicksand of nonsense questions and impossible desires. they go as such>

If I am only self conscious through my self conscious, there is a serious paradoxical situation to be dealt with. What looks at myself? Can my consciousness split and twist itself to distort itself as if I took my eyes out of my sockets to look at my face? Maybe only self consciousness is real and not the self itself, since the self that the self consciousness perceives is only a perception specifically of my self consciousness. Maybe I am only being such that without the motion of self consciousness there is no existence, to not be able to perceive a self from the distant vantage point of walkway of self consciousness I have no reference point for any of my sensibilities extended outside of me. maybe this is the existential nothingness I have always tried to avoid. It is not like I haven't felt it though, but to understand it a little more on a superficial rational plane just makes it a wider gap. gah.
talked to mom and dad today. i told them about my problem of not being able to get beyond the sense that everyone else lives in my life as a ghost and vice versa. she said you just have to trust so. I think mom became unintentionally a kierkegaard wit. first leap of faith I think is this gap between and my self before I can trust the ghosts to be substantial. then that, and then the next unto death. hehehe. yeah lame one.
what do you think?

please don't go
please don't go

Recently I have had a very strong desire to experience things without the colluded presence of my perceptions and existence. I want to see a rock as it is without me seeing it. maybe something even less than that. I want to see light and darkness as they are without me. I want to hear noise as they sound without me. I want to feel surfaces as they are without me. I want to taste food as it is without me. I want to smell air as it is without me. I want experience the existence of things without senses and without me. I want to think thoughts without my mind. I want to feel emotions without me. I want to exist without me. maybe that is how God exists.

How to become Immortal

I am so sorry
I can’t move over the mountain
Standing stones
Just being in the way
Of everything
There are seasons
Where war and revolutions
Constitutions, hopes and anticipations
Immaculate considerations
Of the beautiful
And all the other I O Ns
Where we wish to begin
With the ends

I am sorry I have
Lost sight of sanity
They seem to haunt me
Like all perfect ghosts
In the reflections
Of my failures and my intentions
You’ll see
I cannot come to ague with you all
I have no war to fight
I have no peace to win
I have gone too far form here
And I cannot steer away from the hole
Of my emptiness

No one told me
That people die because they love.
How their words are with me
But I cannot live to understand
These bright days
And how they slip away
Without me
I stand still from far away
I can only reach the world from a distance
From a stance on the horizon

No one told me
That life cheaper during the day
Why did I go away to feel at night
And why did I lay me down among withering leaves
To try and remember the life in them.

I’ll quit my words
I’ll leave once again
I’ll forget all of you
I’ll see new things
And leave the past to die
I’ll know nothing
And never try to
I’ll kiss no one
I’ll kill everything
Just to win me back
I won’t be sad
I’ll let me grow
Into shadows and lights
I’ll reflect
Everything I see.
I’ll murder god
I’ll save judas
I’ll burn by my
Station wagon fuel
It was all of you who made
So all of you must hate me
And light the match
And light the match
And light the match
I should have known.

As the car drives by four in the morning,
A distant smoke rises in the first sun chatters
The roadside shows a charcoaled skeleton
Some car gone wrong
And the ambulance flashing silently in prayer
Over the man screaming bloody murder
Curdling and nursing his roasted skin,
His eyes shake a breath of anticipation
Mumbles the presence of an unseen man
With fingers made of stars
And hair made of sun
The day has risen in front of him
As he leaves here when the night dies.

perfect ghosts

I am hungry.
I came they stay, so strange today.
It is hard for me with philosophy. with understanding, needless to say that knowledge is only a small facet of the entire bric-a-brac of understandings. with understanding. I meddle among the thought of transubstantiation. I meddle with the echo of my visional perception within from the shouts without, so that I and my experiences are one fabric, from the outer exposed phenomenon to even my dreaming of the impossible perceptive noumenon. and when I think about it I can't leave. I can't say yes or no, because I am. I am thinking and feeling, sensing, outwardly towards all life sensibly and inwardly towards all of me appropriated. all in me and out of me. I see you through the grounds of my fabric of my understandings, I know you only so and not you as your very independent consciousness. It compounds upon my every reaction towards you. that is that I only talk and live with you as I react to a mirror, or reading a story, it only comes alive upon my reading and grasping it by the pages and turning them, and signifying each symbol into a letter, each letter into a word, each word into a sentence where from which all understanding explodes only within my echoing body. Body in the Ponty sense. I must visit in my mind Proust's Combray and have tea and a cookie. or maybe just wake up.
So how hard it is depart form the entirety of this existence, is dependent on our senility or sanity. somewhere in between I think lies the great escape and ecstasy. st. elisabeth the tertiary.
My difficulty with philosophy is its exercise of the understanding as a total sum of humanity, and yet it lies within one person at a time. where do we connect? why is solipsism bad? why is it not true? why in the angle of darkness? but maybe it is actually within the curve light where we all become each other's perfect ghost?
I am going to go eat lentil soup now with bread and water. or in other words, I fail at language.