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Symmetry is born from neutrality. At all medians, branches and roots extend. Insides and outsides. Tangible and intangible. Under. Over. Up. Down. This is basic, yes? This writing is typical, no? Questions within vagueness surrounded by analytics and rhetorics. But bury your head underground, and do you see any less? Or do your eyes simply hear less noise? Does your mind cease to imagine what happens to your body? In this case, what has become the roots and what are the branches? That cold blooded brain takes over and are you you anymore? Does the anticipation and uncertainty if what may become if your body drive your being into implosion? Slow down and let your eyes hear the nothing. Let your body see the warmth and the pain and the pleasure of entropy.
There is a part of the brain that can be given conscious control. Or more accurately, can be ignored consciously. This part of the brain--it's name isn't important, right? You have it. I do. Others do, we all do. Those who do this learned it without seeing it. And certainly never heard it--us responsible for your individuality. It creates that barrier in your eyes that tells you you are apart of everything and less a part of it. Abstaining from this function, your head buried deep, you no longer hear anything. Your eyes, your ears, skin, nerves, tongue, polarity, all of them hear nothing. But you still see. You see all that you've heard. You only know what you've heard.
Ahh, but you are neutral! Well, wait. You are neutral right? I mean, after all you aren't one mind are you? And you certainly aren't perfectly symmetrical. For perfect symmetry is one unit of neutrality. But you're a root! Or a branch? Yes, you're that! Not this, but that and certainly not that but this. And in any way, I'm more than certain you're not married. I know this because you aren't one mind! You're a neutral being, and it's a lovely gift to be unwed. To be but eyes between lovers and the despised, buried beneath the dirt with no eyes but sight. You try and see this but your love sees that. And that turns into this as the despised doesn't like being ignored. Soon the world is a whirlwind cooked under a thin crust.
Oh how fun it is to say soon. I've only ever heard it, and can't quite see without it. But even so, I've never really heard it. It was always an echo. And trying to see an echo, is quite something! Do you see it? It's there but it's not! A world dancing corporeal then incorporeal. A blink maybe? Oh who really knows. Your head isnt buried under the dirt. You don't hear anything. Or see. Youre in-between, and no where at all. Yet more buried than the dead man's head will ever be. Hearing a world in a pupil of neutrality.