never can intend
what is happening.
all too vast to grasp.
pick out particulars
to secure a sense of control.
even every intake is selective.
choose that which makes for familiar.
it's all a free-fall of inner narrative blather.
my senses know what I want to feel.
explanation is in rough translation.
everyone else seems mostly calm
and so we pretend a projection of knowing.
somehow we all get by,
by simply agreeing that we generally agree.
being mentality preoccupied
helps with this process,
even if my feeling state goes unshared.
for I dwell in a waterfall of emotions passing.
only touched by those very close at hand.
assume the rest as significant in passing.
but only directly aware of those that I inwardly wash.
wet is at best the experience I have.
cleaned will be my excuse to the world.
next moments are narrative gravity suck.
knowing seems like the air I need to breathe.
if I went numb and blank,
would time still pass,
and I would have to account for that? . . .
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