Foundations of impulse, the governing whim behind all action, instinctively blind to all else but that which is Known. Blind, instinctively led to choose what to Know, what to Feel—all else is Alien.
Conditioned—impulses to act, impulsive thought, random speech and conversation—out of the Blue—out of Memory, or produced from observation.
Urges that are then carried out and regretted, shameful acts repeated, continual urge toward the same loathsome burdensome outcome repressed,
The tree leaves yellowed in late evening sun, the solitary girl walking in the street dreamily past my window, a bird singing far in the distance is all that was heard after pulling off the highway and turning the car off. Each a Fleeting Beauty, briefly lasting and impulsively admired.
Images that strike me, touches of wonder by the comforting clouds, the effortless streams, rivers, trees, rushing flowers to bloom and die, birds, crows perched on power lines—
The long dark sweep of a street straight to the sky, lit-up, gray-blue clouds and pinks, cars streaming—passengers—people! Neons, restaurant boulevards, gas stations, dirty public toilets,
Zombie movie theaters, zombie cellular telephone, zombie schoolroom, social institutions, humans parading for freedom, existence which does not tend to other individual’s desires, no one else can take part in her sorrow of unattainable desire
but her herself, and no one can See enough of what goes on, or ask enough questions to find out. Life is too much.
Does my abundant presence make you want to scream from anxiety? Do I make you angry—or bored from being so shy and quiet? Whatever I make you, show it to me with your honesty. Scream, toss your hands, walk away, but do not torture me, or yourself, with cover-up words and unclear notions.
Don’t make it less than what it Is! Don’t be numb to your impulses! There isn’t enough Time—O from now the dam must be broken down, and the shackled rive set free! Why should I feel offended for being what I am?