so thoughtless of me

I want to go

where expectation has never been.

spend five or ten

in unconditional wondering.

have a sense of loss of character.

question whether the use of language will actually help.

feel for my emotions,

struggling to come to some frame of reference.

inwardly debate, 

whether awake or asleep would help.

eventually, hear only a particular voice 

that I only had in my early childhood.

begin to make up an inner dialogue with new parts,

new perspectives

and really not very sure about storylines

or the potentials for outcomes.

go through the normal debate

of being either dead or alive

and yet bored really fast,

as if overwhelmed by the pleasure of uncertainty.

actually question whether 

this is all inner language appropriate.

begin to question

whether this is all travel

or a new inner sensory aware.

maybe this all has no sense of reflectiveness,

or any use of memory as recall,

or even a sense of familiarity 

to calm me down,

or even a sense for using the word 'me'.

for I seem to be in a language base to myself.

but does that have usage in any other way?

this vaguely feels like a sensory flood,

but I don't, in any way, 

feel like I am drowning

or being somehow swept away.

I do have a sense of stability

but no idea of its source,

yet I am assuming a sense of creature-ness

and I am talking to myself,

as if in a sense of circumstance.

I don't feel abandoned

but I am not sure if I am contained.

my thoughts do keep happening

as if there is a sense of time-honored,

but I have no sense of a where

and I am not sure

that where has a where to go.

I want to believe that I am bound

and that I am linearly attached to a storyline,

and that future gives me a sense of direction.

expectation has never before felt so useless.

it's as if next thoughts

are looking for a sense of purpose.

and even that feel 

has a sense of fulfillment instantaneously.

I'd like some sense of sensory to occur,

things like hot or cold,

maybe even a sense of surface

and the capacity to a response.

for I've never had sensory seem so ponderous

and am comforted by that,

as if a sense of memory or recall.

maybe there is sight

but no sense of visual clarity.

hearing is only an imagined sense

of me, talking to myself.

is this all so very complicated

or just the presentation of elementals?

in reference, I could be a rock or a fern,

or even an air molecule, 

just making attempts at a human storyline.

I have, for now, a very incomplete picture

of a sense of embodiment

and I could wonder

if this is how thought feels

before it becomes mind-conscious.

shit, maybe I just died

and this is the carry-on happening.

for I am making assumptions 

about surface and containment

and nextness 

and still organizing a perspective 

for a sense of events to occur.

I sort of hate to admit to this

but this does sort of feel like 

being an experience junkie, still.

I definitely wanted out of that,

as if a language-base to leave behind.

however this going forward,

would seem to evolve

yet still waiting, 

for the obviousness of body function

to become self-evident.

so far, all I have is the fret of mindfulness,

for I could be on a comma journey

and not know as such.

at least it is made clear

that it is hard to give up 

the sense of self reference,

and to have next thoughts

that have no usefulness to them,

and to have the sense of being

without any dialogue or script,

yet there seems to be

an overwhelm of atmospheric silence

around and further bounding.

how do I need that

which does not claim of itself?

and an ambience presence 

of another-wise integrity?

and a mediumship 

that is not self-conscious

about it own accord?

and maybe all of this has no sense

of time or space either?

maybe I am a molecule,

language bound, 

and circumstance hampered,

with only referential 

as my sense of appendages.

and I feel for a sense of history.

and I need for recall

and an addiction 

to a method called experience.

none of which seem to appropriately apply.

this may mean that my yearning

has taken me

way beyond my means.

so I think I will try 

thoughtlessness, for a while . . .